


Bitter Days, and Sweet

by Jaelijn



Series: Bitter Days, and Sweet 'verse [1]
Category: Blake's 7
Genre: Action/Adventure, Aftermath of Torture, Angst, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Torture, M/M, Physical Disability, Post-Canon, Post-Gauda Prime, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, adding these as warnings, but it's not all that terrible I promise
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-31
Updated: 2017-12-08
Packaged: 2018-12-09 10:33:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 19
Words: 100,445
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11667354
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jaelijn/pseuds/Jaelijn
Summary: Many years after Gauda Prime, the only two survivors, Vila and Avon, find themselves reluctantly running the New Federation. They live fairly quietly with the ghosts of the past – until the day an impossibly familiar ship and an equally impossibly familiar face show up on security footage captured near the Outer Planets…





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Here it finally is - the PGP novel I've been working on for the last half year! I'm very excited to finally be able to start sharing this, and hope you will enjoy reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it. 
> 
> If you've been enjoying my asexual!Avon fics - "Bitter Days, and Sweet" is set in a different 'verse, so events played out differently than they do in that series, but the fic is deliberately written so that it won't contradict a reading of Avon as ace.
> 
> This is completed, though I'm still putting the later chapter through a second round of editing. I will try for a more or less regular update schedule for the chapters, but without further ado now, enjoy!

“Advisor Avon is currently unavailable.”

Vila wasn’t generally given to doing double-takes – far too many things could happen in the time it took; one could be dead in the time it took. Instead, he just stared at the security guard, not sure whether he’d heard the woman correctly. True, he had slipped into casual clothes when he’d set out on his own – it made it easier to slip through the lines of his own security division, or at least it made them look the other way. Vila was sure Avon would have had their collective heads by now if they left such blatant gaps in their ranks. It was far more likely that they were aware of his habits, and thought it more prudent not to stop and disturb him. Still, Vila expected to be _recognised_ , at least within the government circles, and certainly among Avon’s staff.

Vila drew himself up to proper statue and full height, throwing back the hood of his coat. “What do you mean, _unavailable_?”

The opening door cut off whatever retort the guard might have had. Avon was standing in the doorway; the bright light spilling from the flat in his back blinding enough that Vila couldn’t quite make out his expression. “That’ll be all for tonight, Brook. We do not leave the President waiting,” Avon drawled, leaning his shoulder against the doorframe.

Vila caught the woman’s look of stunned surprise – definitely a new member of the ranks, then. Well. He _had_ been told before that watching the newsfeed was nothing like meeting him in person. “It’s all right. And I prefer ‘Chancellor’,” he added pointedly towards Avon, knowing full well that Avon knew that and was only trying to wind him up.

Avon pushed himself off the doorframe – without a characteristic retort, which gave Vila pause – and stepped aside to let him in. Vila took in the unfailing cleanliness of the entrance of the flat – Avon would have preferred the term ‘suite’ – while its owner exchanged a few words with the security detail. Finally, the door closed with a definite click and the faint metallic whirr of the lock. Even now, the sound set Vila’s brain in motion, a new locked door, a new puzzle, a new chance to prove that he was the best cracksman in the known universe. Only he knew his efforts were wasted on Avon’s lock: Avon hadn’t stopped adjusting it until Vila admitted defeat. It had been a blow to Vila’s pride, but then the lock was the only one of its kind, which made Vila feel better and Avon feel safer.

“I wish you’d stop it with the ‘President’, Avon. I really don’t like that title.”

“I cannot imagine why,” Avon said dryly.

It was a discussion they had time and time again, but it was familiar, safe, friendly, and Vila threw himself into it with full abandon, pulling off his too fancy gloves, his too fancy coat, and rounding on Avon – only to come up short.

Avon looked horrible.

He hadn’t truly looked _well_ for years, of course, but now he was leaning heavily against the wall, idly spinning the stick Vila knew well he rarely used within his own rooms, except on the truly bad days. He always carried it with him when he went out, just to be safe, but there were hardly any significant walking distances in his suite. Avon was avoiding Vila’s gaze, red-rimmed eyes directed at his hand holding the walking stick. There was a slight, rueful smile twisting his lips, but that did nothing to fool Vila. Physical problems they had plenty between them, but Avon hadn’t looked this bad since… well, since Gauda Prime and its aftermath.

“What happened?” Vila asked.

“There would have been a memorandum on your desk tomorrow morning, but now that you’re here…” Avon breathed in deeply, something between a sigh and a fortifying breath, and motioned towards the sitting room that doubled as study. Avon wasn’t short of space, but he rarely received visitors in his own home – none but Vila, as far as Vila was aware – and it would have been a waste not to use the room with the best view to spend most of his time in.

The nightly cityscape which spread out beyond the panoramic window always took Vila’s breath away, even more so this time of the year when the trees were decorated with cheery lights in celebration of the Week of Freedom and Liberation. The vernacular had long shortened the fancy denomination Vila’s staff had come up with – and subsequently insisted upon – to Freedom Week. It wasn’t catchy, but at least it was short. Both Vila and Avon had mixed feelings about the celebrations, of course, not that they would ever show as much in public, but the decorations were always pretty.

Avon stepped past him, the stick clicking lightly on the floor with its warmly coloured wood. Avon sank into his deskchair, turning one of the screens of his computer setup so Vila could see it clearly even while standing.

Vila tore his gaze away from the view, and stepped up behind Avon, peering over his shoulder like in the old days, only that now Avon’s hair was shot through with grey. “What am I looking at?”

“Data picked up by the sensory relay of a scientific research station in the fifth sector. I’ve had it double- and triple-checked, of course, but the staff are among the best and brightest, and their computer system is faultless.”

Vila focussed on the screen, struggling, for a moment, to make sense of the figures. It had been a long time since he’d last had to deal with sensory data from space, so long since his very survival had depended on his ability to read the _Liberator_ ’s, and later the _Scorpio_ ’s sensors. Technology had advanced since then, of course, not least because of the restructuring of the education system and Avon’s input, but then the _Liberator_ had been decades if not centuries ahead of any technology left by the Federation. Not even Avon thought they would ever catch up in their lifetime.

When Vila’s mind started making sense of the figures, his first thought was that it _had_ to be a prank, and a mean-spirited one at that, but _Avon wouldn’t_. Besides, even if Avon was given to practical joking, which he wasn’t, he certainly wouldn’t indulge in it when he was feeling this bad. On the other hand, if the data was real, that did explain _why_ Avon was feeling this bad. Vila swallowed an inane _It can’t be!_ and asked: “How sure are you?”

Avon’s lips were pressed together in a thin line, one of his hands resting on the desk by the computer controls, the other still clasping his stick, his knuckles white. “This isn’t all.” He pressed a few controls, and a new file opened on the screen – this, Vila had become all too familiar with in the last few years: a security camera feed.

“The research station?”

“Yes.” Avon started the video.

A few seconds in, Vila spotted it, and his chest was suddenly tight, the air suddenly too thick to breathe. He closed his hand around the backrest of Avon’s chair, just trying to remain upright. The video ended on a frozen frame, perfectly clear, perfectly in focus. Unmistakable.

Vila could hear Avon breathing harshly, the only sound in the room louder than the noise of his own heartbeat.

After a moment, Avon leant forward and closed the file, before falling heavily back into his chair.

“You were going to spoil my breakfast with that?” Vila said with put-on lightness just to disrupt the suffocating silence. He swallowed hard around a knot in his throat.

Avon finally let go of his stick, leaning it against the table and massaging his cramped hand. “I would say I had intended to sleep on it, but sleep looks unlikely at this point.”

“Another clone?”

“Impossible.”

“The System–”

“Went into complete meltdown, as well you know. The three planets live without any high technology now.”

“How, then?!”

“I have no idea.”

“It can’t be ghosts.”

Avon shrugged. “In this universe, who knows. Though when I said that Blake would come back to haunt us one day, _this_ wasn’t what I meant.”

Nobody but Vila would have heard the hitch in Avon’s voice as he steeled himself to speak the name. He dropped his hand lightly onto Avon’s shoulder, a show of support that, even a few years ago, Avon would have shrugged off.  

“Never mind Blake for a moment – that could be a lookalike, a skin craft, a clever disguise, a faulty camera. How can it be the _Liberator_?”

“It’s a ship _like_ the _Liberator_ , that’s all I’m prepared to admit,” Avon said, “As for the cameras, I have had every system component examined – the footage is real, but the face might not be.”

“What do you suggest?”

“With a ship like that, one could be anywhere in the galaxy by now. We never were able to design an engine like it. Finding it again would be an exercise in futility.” Avon tapped his fingers on the desk. “I’m not sure that we should do anything. This is the extent of our information, and it’s precious little. Let them make the first move.”

“Is that the advice of Kerr Avon, or Advisor Avon?”

Avon’s spine went rigid, and he hit the desk with his palm, twisting around sharply in his chair, tired eyes suddenly burning with anger. “Damn it all, Vila, what would you have me say? That Blake might be back? That the _Liberator_ might be? What good does it do now? If we’re lucky, it won’t cause an upheaval once the news gets out to the press!”

Vila settled down on the armrest of the nearest armchair and looked Avon over carefully. Any remainder of the politeness of high politics they affected in front of strangers and officials was gone from their interaction now. Not the Chancellor and his Advisor – just Avon, and Vila. “You’re afraid it actually _is_ Blake – no. You think it might be, and you’re upset he didn’t come back sooner.”

Avon sighed, directing his gaze towards the ceiling, but didn’t bother to contradict Vila. They were both surprised to have stuck together for so long, to have learned to read each other so well. “Aren’t you?” Avon asked quietly.

“It turned out all right. Even without Blake.”

“With a lot of blood on our hands.”

“There was already blood on our hands when we were still with Blake.”

“All I ever wanted was freedom and a quiet life,” Avon said, speaking to the ceiling.

These were familiar regrets, familiar musings. Vila had long stopped commenting on them, except to silently agree. They had shared their dreams often along the years – Vila had always loved to paint luscious pictures that sometimes changed from one day to the next; meanwhile, Avon’s dream had always been so steady, and yet here they were, probably the most powerful men in the known universe, and neither where they wanted to be.

“Do we tell the cabinet?”

“And say what? That the man and the ship that they have as good as declared a saint and his icon might be out there this instant? Despite the fact that we have witnessed both their… ends? It would create chaos, Vila.”

Sometimes, Vila surprised himself with the thought that some excitement might be nice to interrupt the dreary everyday politics, but before he could say as much to Avon, the door in the hallway burst open.

Seconds later the room was flooded with security personnel.

Avon was on his feet in an instant – his rooms were strictly private, and that included any security staff. “How _dare_ you!” The door shouldn’t even have opened to them, Vila knew, unless they had employed the worldwide emergency override – which might explain the harried expressions.

“Apologies, Advisor Avon. Chancellor.” The leader of the security force tipped their brow at Vila, as formal a salute as Vila would allow, and had the decency to look slightly abashed under Avon’s glare. “We have a Code 7.”

Avon whirled back around, calling up several things on the three screens – Vila had always wondered how he could possibly work with that many. “A video message?”

“Audio only, Advisor. Our sensor grid indicates weapons _are_ charged.”

“The shield has been activated, of course.”

“Of course.”

“Avon?” Vila put in, knowing that Avon would understand what he was asking.

Avon clenched his fist. “What do you think?” He sharply turned the screen farthest to the left, and Vila was treated to a clear image of the _Liberator_ – or a ship just like the _Liberator_ – in Earth’s orbit.

Vila drew a sharp breath and turned to the head of security – he preferred not needing to have much contact with the security division, but at least he remembered their name: Val Teviot. “Have you tried to answer, Teviot?”

“No communication was possible.”

“What’s the ultimatum?”

“For the President and the Supreme Commander to agree to an unarmed meeting aboard the ship to negotiate the dismantling of the Federation – or to face large scale destruction.”

“Well, whoever it is has lost their mind,” Vila said. “One ship, even a ship like this one, against our defence screen? They haven’t got a chance.”

“ _The President and Supreme Commander_ ,” Avon murmured, turning back towards Vila. “I think they probably have no idea the screen is there.”

“There hasn’t been a president or a supreme commander in years,” Teviot said.

Avon suddenly grinned, clearly taking them by complete surprise. Vila had seen the lock of unholy glee before. “What do you think, Vila? Should we make use of the teleporter and pay a visit?”

“Advisor Avon–”

Avon’s grin didn’t even falter for a moment, though Vila watched his eyes go cold. “ _Not_ taking any of you, of course – we are supposed to be unarmed, after all.”

But Teviot was one of the few people not afraid of appearing disrespectful by speaking up against Avon. “I really would advise…”

“You forget that Vila and I have more combat experience than any of you put together,” Avon snapped, then, more softly, “I’m going, on my own, if I have to. Vila?”

Vila thought about it for just a moment. “Our teleporter?”

“Naturally.”

“So we can get out any time?”

“Of course.”

“All right.”

“Chancellor–”

Vila shook his head. “You heard the ultimatum, Teviot. This galaxy doesn’t need any more bloodshed. Leave us, and advice that we will comply with the instructions, if you can.”

Teviot looked uneasy, but backed off when they caught Avon’s glower – Avon, who had taken a gun out of a compartment in his desk and was handling it with still practiced ease, the muzzle pointed steadily at Teviot’s head.

Teviot shifted uneasily, motioning the entourage to retreat, and turned once more towards Vila. “You have your equipment, of course, Chancellor.”

“I’ll bring him back to you safely,” Avon said, cutting off Vila’s response. “Now get out.”

The security personnel trailed out, and only when the door fell into the lock with a definite click did Avon relax, clipping the gun to his belt. “Well.”

“Do you have interior scans of the ship?”

“Of course. The layout is the same, so we best–”

“– get on board on the engineering level and make our way up. Crew?”

“Only one life sign, but that doesn’t have to mean anything.”

“You’re not really leaving the gun behind, are you?”

“Not any more than you are.” Avon said, nodding towards the small weapon Vila always carried on his person – concealed, technically, and as effectively hidden as the force field woven into his coat, unless one knew it was there. The gun and force field were a concession to Vila’s security staff for when he went on his excursions, and by now Vila barely even noticed they were there anymore. He could never be sure how much of the security measures around his person had been Avon’s doing – at least those of the technical variety. While the staff was meticulously vetted, Avon’s trust in _people_ was miniscule at best, and probably he would rather outfit Vila with a full-body armour than entrust his life to any of the security staff – even Teviot, for whom he seemed to have at least a grudging respect.

They headed out into the hallway where Vila gathered up his coat, slipping it on. He left the gloves lying by the side, but made sure that the reassuring weight of his toolkit was where it should be. You never knew when there might be a door that needed opening. “What if it is…?”

“Blake?” Avon had stepped up to a wall panel, unlocking the room that held the teleporter. They had briefly considered making it widely accessible as a means of transport, but had decided against it in the end. The transportation system they had on the planet was efficient enough, and the teleport wasn’t far-ranging enough to be interplanetary without irresponsible energy consumption. It might be a convenient way to get from and into orbit, but on Earth it was more of a security risk than it was worth. They rarely used it, now, which was why they had the original system dismantled and reinstalled hidden in Avon’s suite. Avon had said that eventually he might find a solution to the energy problem, but Vila was fairly sure he hadn’t even touched the system much in the last years. Security check completed, Avon turned back to him. “I imagine Blake’ll be more surprised to see us than we will be to see him. After all, _we_ have been forewarned. It will be interesting to hear his explanation.”

Vila nodded. There was a part of him that felt a tentative hope – the part that had looked up to Blake, had liked Blake, trusted him to be able to fix things, even if they had little use for that Blake, now. Vila had never been a starry-eyed admirer of Blake’s Cause, but he had liked the man. Blake the friend might mean something, now – Blake the fanatic, not so much. It was a shame, really, that Blake the friend had gradually been so deeply buried under Blake the fanatic that by the end there hadn’t been anything left of him. Vila would have liked to find out whether that had changed again over the years Blake had been away from them, but they’d never had the chance, of course. Vila hadn’t shared his theory of the two Blakes with Avon, but he had the feeling that Avon would have understood, anyway. Avon had never had much time for Blake the fanatic, after all. “Not taking your stick?”

“Not that one,” Avon said, and motioned Vila down the corridor. “After you.”

The entrance to the teleport room was hidden in plain sight: It was an unassuming door that Vila was well aware was one of the securest on the planet, but one which wouldn’t attract the eye of a thief. With the security system disabled, it opened to Vila’s touch like any ordinary door, and closed behind them without any of the fanfare of Avon’s front door.

The room was meticulously dust-free – whatever else Avon had been doing with the system, he had kept it clean and functioning all the years. It had taken long enough to put it back together without Orac to let it go to waste, even if they barely used it.

Avon slid behind the console and removed another walking stick and the injector for the subcutaneous bracelets from a drawer. The subcutaneous bracelets were only a secondary system, one for emergencies, but far more difficult to lose than the actual bracelets. The term had stuck, but Vila knew that they were nothing more than a small chip which could be inserted under the skin.

“Budge over, would you?”

Avon scooted down the bench, and Vila sat to unzip his boot.

“Do you remember how it works?” Avon asked.

“Yes, I remember. ‘s fool-proof, isn’t it?”

Avon shot him a quick smile. “I should hope so.” He clipped on one of the proper bracelets, laying a second one out for Vila, and began the activation process.

Vila took the injector and placed it against the exposed skin of the inside of his ankle, bracing for the sharp pain. It was over and done with in a second, though Vila knew that his ankle would itch and smart for a few hours yet. He pulled the boot over it, picking up the actual bracelet. Like Avon, he hid it under his sleeve. No need to draw unnecessary attention to it. “Don’t you need the injector?”

“In a moment,” Avon said – he was loading up the coordinates.

“This isn’t like us, is it. Rushing into danger without making sure we know the stakes.”

“Isn’t it?” Avon’s smirk barely covered up the pained wince when he bent over to inject his own ankle. “I had the impression it had become something of the norm.”

“And if it isn’t Blake?”

“Then we’ll deal with whoever it is. Clearly they are misinformed about the current state of Earth’s government.”

Vila climbed to his feet. “So if I’m the President, that makes you–”

Avon glared and Vila snickered, giddy with excitement after so many years of sitting in offices and cabinet meetings.

“You made your point, _Chancellor_.” Avon threw some more switches, and moved to stand beside Vila, holding his walking stick. “Ready?”

“What’s so special about that walking stick, then?”

“You’ll see,” Avon said, “well?”

“As ready as I’ll ever be.”

“That’s all I would ask from you.” Avon clapped his hands twice sharply, and the teleport took them.


	2. Chapter 2

Materialising was like stepping into one’s memories. The hallway looked exactly as Vila remembered it – even the air smelled as he remembered, the distinctive not-stale of the _Liberator_ ’s advanced recycling system.

Avon’s stick came down hard on the metal panelling, tearing Vila from the memories.

“Did you have to do that?”

Avon shot him a silent glare, indiscernible emotions flickering over his face as he scanned the corridor. Vila swallowed his own nerves, and took a step, half-expecting the deck to dissolve under his feet like a dream. It didn’t, of course, remaining as solid as it had always been.

“Flight deck or teleport section?” he asked.

“Teleport, I think. Let’s go.”

Vila let Avon set the pace, of course, and tried to keep a hold on himself. On Earth, he had learned to master even the worst case of nerves and speak in front of thousands, even millions on the public broadcasts, but here, in the too familiar corridors, his nerves jittered like a rubber band stretched too thin. There it was, the familiar dread and thrill of the ship’s engine purring beneath their feet, the power to go anywhere, do anything, the thought that, here, on this ship, he might as well be untouchable, so long as everything dangerous remained outside of it. Vila wasn’t interested in power, as such, but the _Liberator_ had given him a sense of safety and _home_ he hadn’t known before – or since, not even when he curled up on the settee in his lounge, enjoying the view of his own private gardens, and marvelling in the peace that was, to no small degree, his doing.

Avon had always refused to be slowed down by his limp, as if sheer stubbornness would do the trick. Of course, it didn’t fix everything, and frequently he was left with no choice but to take it slow, but considering how sickly he had looked down in his suite, there was practically a spring in his step now – he barely rested any weight on his stick at all, carrying it more as a decorative item than a walking aid.

They slowed down as they neared the teleport section, listening for any sounds from within, but there was nothing. They flattened themselves against the wall, old instincts well-remembered, and Vila hazarded a careful glance. There was nobody there, the section deserted. He looked back to Avon and shook his head.

“Flight deck, then.”

“What of the defence system?”

“We’ll see soon enough.”

 

There was no one on the flight deck, either, nor did the _Liberator_ ’s automated defence system cut in. Vila was drawn to his old console, running a hand over the familiar controls. A wave of nostalgia – misplaced, perhaps, silly, perhaps, but there nonetheless – welled up in him, nearly taking his breath away. Avon walked down to the front of the deck, and if it hadn’t been for the grey in his hair and the stick he carried carefully in one hand, they might as well have been back where they were more than a decade ago. With unusual hesitation, Avon made his way over to his own console, sliding into the chair and placing his stick in small groove above the controls, where it settled as if it had always belonged there. He glanced over at Vila, and Vila felt a new thrill of familiarity.

“See if you can power down the weapons.”

“Why do _I_ have to try the controls first?”

Avon sighed, and let his fingers dance over the controls – running a manual systems check. Even after all these years, Vila recognised the sequence, as if it had been only yesterday that he watched Avon run one, shortly before the fiasco of Terminal, with Tarrant and Dayna and Cally – gods, _Cally_ – chattering away in the background.

“All systems nominal. Power down the weapons, Vila.”

This time, Vila didn’t hesitate, grateful for the task that kept him from drowning in his memories. He powered down the weapons, deactivated the neutron flare shield and watched as the generators cooled down. It would buy them a few moments to get back down to Earth if things should go pear-shaped. Enough time, at any rate, to get word to the defence staff before the ship would do any sort of firing.

When he looked up, he found Avon staring at Zen’s visual reference point – or what would be Zen, if this were the _Liberator_ , which it couldn’t be – could it? It would be easy to find out – to just ask – but Avon shook his head gently, as if only to himself, and kept his mouth shut.

“Who are you and how did you get on board my ship?”, a voice suddenly boomed from the entrance to the flight deck to Avon’s left, and it took embarrassingly long for Vila to recognise the voice.

Vila slid carefully from his chair, sure that, from that position, he could not have been seen yet, and slipped up the stairs towards Cally’s old console where he would be even better hidden and yet could see the person standing on the steps at the other entrance to the flight deck. Perhaps Vila _was_ dreaming, after all. The man walked down slowly, his gun pointed at Avon, who had slid out from behind the console and turned to face him, his arms up. Even from across the flight deck, Vila could see the horrible tension in Avon’s frame, and feared that, sooner or later, Avon’s legs would just fold away under him.

And yet, when he spoke, his voice was remarkably dry and steady. “Hello, Blake.”

Blake’s gun arm wavered. “Avon?!”

“Ah. So you do know me, then.”

Blake – or the man who looked just like Blake, who sounded just like Blake, but the Blake of _two decades ago_ , holstered his gun, and closed the distance to Avon in two long strides, pulling him into a sudden embrace.

Avon stiffened, his eyes snapping to Vila’s, barely concealed panic shining in them. Vila tapped his bracelet, but Avon shook his head minutely.

Blake pulled back, and Avon tore his gaze away, staring instead at Blake’s hands, which wouldn’t leave his arms.

“Avon – how?” Blake asked, voice full of disbelief and shock.

Avon pulled away from the grip, looking more uneasy by the second. “I think you owe _us_ a few explanations, don’t you?”

“Us?”

Vila rose from his hiding place, his hand resting on his concealed weapon, and stepped forward. “You didn’t think he’d come alone, did you?”

Blake stared at him, and suddenly his knees gave out. Avon caught him by the elbow, grunting under the sudden weight, and barely kept on his own feet. “Vila, a little help if you don’t mind?!”

“Right!” Vila rushed over, catching Blake’s other arm. He pulled it over his shoulder, taking most of Blake’s weight. He didn’t miss Avon’s relieved sigh nor the grimace of pain as he reached for his stick even while Vila was manhandling Blake, who was barely any help at all, over to the flight deck sofa, where he dropped him unceremoniously onto the cushions.

Avon was limping heavily now, and fell more than sat down at the opposite end. He sat stiffly with the stick laid across his knees, even though Vila knew that he should be stretching his leg.

“I didn’t expect him to faint at the sight of _me_ ,” Vila remarked, and poked Blake’s shoulder, which gained him a groan and an irritated headshake, as if Blake were trying to clear his head. Then, his eyes flickered back open, and he stared for a long moment at Avon, then Vila, then ran a hand over his mouth.

“I don’t understand,” Blake said, at length.

“Neither do we,” Avon shot back. “Why don’t you explain who you are, and how you came to be in possession of a ship like this.”

 _Of course_ , Vila thought. It couldn’t really be Blake, could it. Certainly not since he was looking as young as he had been all the way back before the Andromeda War. Vila took a step back with a sigh, leaning on the edge of the sofa beside Avon.

“Avon, you _know_ who I am,” not-Blake said.

Avon lifted an eyebrow, and his hand closed tightly around the stick. Vila resisted the impulse to place a hand on his arm. “Do I?”

“What ship is this?” Vila asked.

“The _Liberator_ , of course,” not-Blake said, without hesitation. “Vila – how can you be alive?”

“What do you mean how can _I_ be alive?!”

“Well, if this is the _Liberator_ , this discussion should be easy enough to settle.” Avon leant back, finally stretching his leg, and spoke to the room at large: “Zen!”

Vila stared as the reference point came to life, his hand falling again on the small gun concealed under his coat.

“Zen, indicate if my voice pattern is registered in the memory banks and confirm identity,” Avon instructed, and Vila held his breath.

“Voice pattern registered as Kerr Avon. Identity confirmed,” Zen’s booming voice sounded, and Vila felt suddenly faint.

“Zen,” he said, and had to swallow hard, “what Avon said, would you?”

“Voice pattern registered as Vila Restal. Identity confirmed,” came the immediate answer.

“Now you,” Avon said, nodding at – Blake?

Blake, or whoever he was, pulled himself upright in his seat. “Zen, indicate if my voice pattern is registered and confirm identity.”

“Voice pattern registered as Roj Blake. Identity confirmed.”

“Well. At least Zen believes you are who you seem to be,” Avon said. He was rubbing his thigh now, a motion that did nothing to ease the old injury, which wasn’t even in the same place as Vila knew very well. The gesture was merely an expression of pain and nerves Avon rarely allowed himself in public, an attempt to manage when it was really getting to him.

Vila cleared his throat. Back on the _Liberator_ , he had often interfered when Blake and Avon were getting into fights, drawing some of the fire. It felt strange to be doing so again to cover for Avon’s physical discomfort instead. He’d done that before, too – in front of the cabinet, in front of numerous ambassadors, and not a small amount of members of the adoring public or press, though he knew better than to expect thanks for it. Even if he was sure that, if no one else had, _Avon_ had at least noticed what he was doing. But none of those people had been personal acquaintances. Neither him nor Avon really had any of those anymore. “Why don’t you explain how you got here, Blake?”

“Oh, I will – but first I would like to know how you two happen to be alive, and… older.”

“It’s called aging, Blake,” Avon said sharply, his voice laced with pain. “Meanwhile _you_ – you aren’t even aware that the Federation has long been dismantled, are you?”

Blake frowned. “This isn’t funny, Avon.”

“It wasn’t meant to be. The President and Servalan are long dead. So are you.” Avon sounded suddenly contemplative. “Whatever happened to you, this is not the time – or the universe – you belong to.”

Vila groaned. “Multiverse theory again, Avon?” It was one of Avon’s favourite thought experiments when he was in a philosophic mood – the idea that with every choice, every move, every decision, the universe split up into possibilities, like a giant tree diagram. Vila could appreciate it as a diversion, a pastime, but generally found the idea that every choice split him into two people disturbing – and the thought that there was a Vila out there who’d made all the right choices and got what he wanted was just depressing. Avon, of course, claimed to have no emotional reaction to the theory one way or another, but Vila thought that perhaps it was comforting to think that some versions of him _hadn’t_ shot and killed Blake.

Avon waved off Vila’s irritation. “It fits the facts.”

“So does him being an imposter.”

“And the ship?”

“Another of the same class?”

“I don’t think so. I only had a brief look at the computers but… you know it’s the same ship as well as I do.”

Vila reluctantly nodded, his mind cruelly flashing back to the decaying flight deck, Zen’s dying voice echoing in his ears. Their _Liberator_ was gone – but this was the _Liberator_ , all the same. He could sense it from the smell of the air to the familiar feel of his flight deck chair.

“Avon, are you all right?” Blake asked suddenly, interrupting their discussion.

It startled a smile out of Avon, at least. “Not particularly. Why don’t you tell us your side of the story? We’re safe here,” he added with a glance to Vila, who gave a nod of acknowledgement and double-tapped the panic button implanted in his wrist – a signal for the staff to stand down and revoke Code 7.

 

Blake’s story, in the end, was both unspectacular and decidedly bleak. It hadn’t been Gan who died on Earth in Blake’s memory, but Vila – a death no less senseless, no less painful, and even though the event had been a while ago even from Blake’s perspective, his eyes still shone with a guilt that was all too familiar to Avon and Vila both. After that, Blake’s relationship with Avon had become… strained. Blake was avoiding details, but the bottom line remained that, eventually, Avon had left.

Avon – his Avon – met Vila’s gaze at that, before flicking his eyes back to the point somewhere in the distance he’d been staring at all the time Blake was speaking. It had never occurred to Vila before that _he_ might have been one of the reasons Avon had stuck around – but he could see it now. Avon had never really got along with Gan, he had liked Cally in his own way, but Cally was true to Blake’s Cause, and Jenna… well. In the end, she would always have sided with Blake. Even with Vila there to agree with him once in a while, Avon’s patience with Blake had been slowly but surely stretched to breaking point after Gan’s death. Entirely on his own, Vila couldn’t blame the other Avon for leaving.

If Blake noticed any of the silent communication happening between them, he didn’t show it, just carried on with his narrative in an even, almost monotone voice. If their universe hadn’t been easy on Blake, _his_ certainly had been a shade darker still, he said. Vila was tempted to disagree, but thought it might not be wise to let this Blake know just _how_ his counterpart had found his end, if only to spare Avon having to relive one of the most traumatic experiences of both their lives.

“We later learned of Avon’s death at the hand of Federation torturers through the propaganda channels. Of course they didn’t phrase it quite like that,” Blake said, and fell silent for a moment, staring at his hands.

Avon exhaled, never lowering his gaze from the ceiling. “Shrinker,” he said, and Vila knew he was probably right. After all, it had been the first thing Avon had really wanted to do after _they_ had lost Blake.

Blake looked confused, but didn’t question them. “After that, it went downhill. We never managed to find out where they moved Control. Cally wanted to go to Auron and decided to stay, help built a resistance force there. I don’t know if she survived, if any of the Auronar survived. Orac was damaged, and we couldn’t get it repaired. And then there was the war. Gan and Jenna both died in battle. There was some rumour about a virus slowly killing off the aliens, but… I was alone, and injured, and I ran. As soon as I could, I told Zen to take me somewhere safe. This is where I ended up. When I realised there were no aliens here – yet, or so I assume – I thought–”

“You thought you could do one final foolishly heroic thing and destroy the Federation in a suicide mission,” Avon said, with an unmistakable sneer. Vila hadn’t seen it for a long time – Avon had a special contempt for politicians, but this was an expression he’d reserved for Blake.

“Yes.” Blake suddenly laughed. “I missed you, Avon!”

Avon frowned. “Nonsense.”

“Well, since Vila is alive, and you are, and the Federation is in fact gone, I take it things went better here.”

Vila caught Avon’s gaze, for a moment very aware of the demons that lurked in both their memories, and forced a cheerful smile. “Things could be worse. You should come down to Earth, see for yourself! You’d have to wear a disguise, of course.”

Avon pushed himself to his feet, leaning heavily on the stick and ignoring Blake’s curious glances. “We should get back at any rate.”

Blake, too, climbed to his feet. “I won’t run into another me, will I?”

Avon froze for a moment, and when he spoke, his voice was cold as ice: “No, you won’t meet another you.”

Blake shot Vila a startled glance, but remained silent, not even offering to help as he and Vila trailed Avon down to the teleport section, even though Vila could see that he wanted to – Avon’s limp was _bad_.

They didn’t need to go down to the teleport, of course – their bracelets worked from anywhere – but if Blake was to come with them, he needed a bracelet of his own and the coordinates needed to be set.

Avon behind the console of the teleport was an even more familiar picture, and Vila forced himself to breathe evenly through the memories. This was the last area of the _Liberator_ he’d ever seen – and now, they had the ship back.

“If I leave the ship–” Blake began, but Avon cut him off.

“We have ways of getting on board, as you might have noticed. The _Liberator_ won’t be abandoned for long – if nothing else, she needs to be moved before anyone notices just what ship is in orbit.”

Blake nodded and picked up a bracelet, and Vila leant against the console.

“Do we send someone up?” he asked Avon.

“I’ll do it myself later.”

Vila nodded. “All right.”

“Just like that?” Blake snapped the bracelet shut.

“I’m not going to abscond with your ship, if that is what you worry about, Blake,” Avon said, voice still icy. It would take time for Avon to regain his balance before he could begin to let his guard down around Blake – it might happen sooner than either of them might expect, but it would take time. Right now, he was hurting, and his shields were up, stronger than Vila had seen in some years.

Blake lifted his hands in a placating gesture. “Of course not.”

“Right! Let’s go!” Vila cut in before Blake could even think about saying something really stupid like _I trust you_ , and pulled Blake into the teleport alcove.

Avon flicked a switch, and they were back down on Earth, in the teleport room of Avon’s suite. Vila pulled Blake away from the arrival area, knowing that Avon would be right behind them. The contrast was jarring – while the _Liberator_ had a certain sleekness of design, the new teleporter was clearly more advanced. After all, Avon had been working on and improving it for years, and Vila knew that Blake could see it, too.

“You know, I could believe having travelled to another universe – but having travelled to the future as well does stretch the mind. If I hadn’t seen…” Blake trailed off, looking sheepish.

“Avon going grey and my receding hairline that’s more of a bald head every year? Neither of us is prone to vanity, Blake.”

“I meant to ask – Vila, what happened to him? The cane–”

“Another time, Blake,” Vila said, and not before time, as Avon materialised behind them, immediately unclipping the visible bracelet and powering down the console.

“Take Blake to the sitting room for now – you know where everything is. I need to make a few calls and arrangements.”

Vila nodded, and took Blake by the elbow, bringing out some of the inane chatter he had never unlearned even though it was unbecoming of a Chancellor. It _was_ a good tactic when Avon just needed to hear another voice without wanting to engage with the content, and Vila had kept in practice.

Blake stopped and stared at the view, of course. The morning sun was just creeping up the sky, casting the world into a surreal half-light, and Blake walked right up to the window, drinking it in. After months in space, Vila wasn’t surprised by the reaction.

Vila went to Avon’s food synthesiser and fetched them both a drink and a few light refreshments. He spread them out on the coffee table and settled into the armchair he usually occupied.

“What exactly is it that you two do now?” Blake asked as he came over and, thankfully, picked the third chair, not Avon’s own favourite.

Vila had been afraid of that question, frankly. Blake had clearly already picked up on the fact that his dynamic with Avon was different from what he was used to, but if he had lost Vila back when they had lost Gan… well, he could barely have any idea of who Vila actually was. “You need to know sooner or later, I suppose. You’re speaking to the Chancellor of the New Federation, not that I particularly care for the title. Avon is, officially, Chief Advisor, and he is that, too, but even I’m not entirely sure what else he actually does. Some things I don’t want to know about.”

In the early days, when there was trial after trial of Federation higher-ups, people would sometimes go missing. Accidents happened, others just… vanished. None of them were people who would be missed, and Vila never asked. Blake, except at his most manic, wouldn’t have approved, but Vila didn’t have it in him to pity the people who had willingly and deliberately enslaved entire planets, or butchered and violated just as many people in the Federation prisons. The new law would have demanded imprisonment for life, and the Federation had left them with enough means to carry the sentence out, too – death almost seemed like a kindness, under the circumstances. Vila knew well that Avon’s unassuming role in political meetings was no reflection of what his computers let him do behind the scenes, but he trusted Avon, unfalteringly.

“Chancellor?” Blake asked, pulling Vila from his thoughts.

He allowed himself an entirely unpolitical smirk. “It _is_ the highest political position, in case you were wondering.”

“So everything we fought for…”

“If we were fighting for peace and freedom, then yes. It’s not equality, it’s not a utopia, but it is just and fair.” There was a reason that Vila stuck with the job, even if he’d rather be doing something else. They were building something worthwhile, and not even Avon had ever complained about that. Vila assumed that the limitless funds for the sciences had something to do with Avon’s general contentment, leaving aside the physical and psychological damage he – they, both – suffered from.

“Who would have thought,” Blake said with a smile, “a common thief…”

“Vila was never a common thief,” came Avon’s voice from the doorway.

Vila looked up to find him leaning against the frame again, shifting weight almost entirely off his damaged leg. He looked exhausted, and Vila couldn’t blame him. Vila motioned at the table. “There’s food?”

But Avon, of course, shook his head. “Later. You need to leave – there will be several meetings, possibly all day. Until then…” Avon trailed off and inhaled deeply. “It would probably best if you remained here, Blake. There is plenty of space, and I can find you a history book if you want to catch up. By tomorrow, we will have arranged a disguise, and Vila can pick you up for a tour.”

Blake nodded. “I could return to the _Liberator_ ; I wouldn’t want to inconvenience either of you.”

“Nonsense – we _are_ glad to see you, Blake, and of course you should stay.” Vila climbed to his feet. “Only you shouldn’t wander about outside as you are. I’ll deal with the bureaucracy – you’ll be safe with Avon in the meantime.”

“I never doubted that,” Blake said with a smile.

A frown flickered over Avon’s face, but was gone in a heartbeat, and he carefully redistributed his weight to rest on his stick. “Knowing you, you will sleep through the day.”

Blake chuckled, and sipped on the drink Vila had brought him. “Very likely.”

Vila moved out into the hallway, picking up his discarded gloves. Avon had shifted around in the door, watching him and keeping half an eye on Blake, who was happily polishing off some of the food. “It won’t be wise to inform the cabinet of the identity of our guest just yet,” Avon said.

Vila nodded. “Will you move the _Liberator_ out of orbit?”

“No – I will set up a deflector shield for the time being, and take her to a stationary orbit away from the flight paths. I shouldn’t be away from Earth for long at this moment, and I can do _that_ while Blake is asleep. It will be just as effective at keeping the curious in the dark for a little longer. Then, of course, we need to decide what to do with him – and the ship.”

“Shouldn’t Blake have a say in that?”

Avon frowned. “There isn’t exactly a precedent for ships and people moving between parallel universes, Vila. Possibly he _can’t_ stay.”

“Zen might know – he brought him here, after all.”

“I’ll ask.”

Vila glanced past Avon at Blake, who had wandered to the window again. His voice low, he said: “You want him gone.”

“Blake is a crusader, Vila, and this society has practically elevated him to sainthood. How well, do you think, will he adjust? You cannot be considering giving him a place in the government.”

“I was thinking of stepping down.”

Avon tensed as suddenly as a whipcord. “You cannot be serious!”  

“Why not? I could do some honest thieving for a change.”

“Vila…”

“I’m joking, Avon. But seriously, what if he wants the job? Don’t you think…?”

Avon looked over to Blake himself, his face serious, almost grim. “I really have no idea. This isn’t the Blake we knew, and even if it were...”

“Do you want extra security?”

“No. I’ll be safe enough.”

“All right. I’ll be in touch.”

“Yes – oh, Vila?”

Vila paused, his hand on the door control. “Yes?”

“Private channels.”

They hadn’t used private channels since the government had stabilised. Secure channels, yes, but none so private that their own security staff couldn’t listen in if they wanted to, and many more people would be able to see that there was a communication going on. No one but he and Avon knew that the private channels even existed.

Vila nodded, though it made him feel slightly ill. “Yes.”


	3. Chapter 3

With Vila gone, Avon turned back to the sitting room and Blake, fighting weariness and not a little pain.

“Blake,” he said, and the other man turned his back to the window and the spectacular view. He was smiling.

“Avon?”

“We should find you a room. It’s been a long night.”

“Yes, of course.” Blake placed his drink, nearly empty, down on the nearest table – Avon’s computer station. If it had been Vila, Avon would have been angry; Vila knew very well that food and drink had no place near the deceptively simple but highly delicate equipment – but he was simply too tired now to lecture Blake.

Instead, Avon turned in the door and headed off down the corridor to the two guest rooms. They were rarely used, of course, and Avon had thought about converting at least one of them into a room with a more practical use, but had never got around to it. Years of living on spaceships had left him without the need for a lot of space, and the rooms he did use were already sprawling enough.

“Avon, if you don’t mind me asking–”

“If your question has anything to do with my health, I _do_ mind.” Avon touched the door control with more force than necessary, motioning for Blake to enter the small ensuite room.

Blake looked a little taken aback but clearly made an effort to even out his expression. He stepped past Avon into the room, stopping and turning back to him right inside of it. “Did any of the others make it?”

“No,” Avon said simply. There was no use in telling Blake that most of the crew _he_ had known had died a long, long time ago – not right now, at any rate.

Blake nodded, and turned to appraise the room with a forced smile. “This is nice. More spacious than the _Liberator_.”

Avon suppressed a sigh. “Was there anything you wanted, Blake? If not, I would like to turn in now.”

Blake glanced back, his eyes flickering to Avon’s stick. Avon swallowed the anger and bile rising in his throat at the look. He’d got so used to the staff knowing not to even dare look, let alone comment, that he’d almost forgotten how terrible the pity and false understanding was. It was much worse seeing it on _Blake’s_ face.

“There’re a food synthesizer over there, and a communications array by the bed,” Avon said, wanting, desperately, to leave, “There shouldn’t be any interruptions, but if they are, you can reach me with that.”

Blake met his eyes finally. “Thank you. I’m sure I’ll sleep like a stone.”

“Very well. I will see you later.” Avon stepped back, letting the door whiz shut. He thought briefly of overriding the lock, but there was no telling how Blake would react to that. It wasn’t as though Avon would be in any danger in his private rooms: Most people had no idea where they were located within the suite, and even those that did had no access privileges. There was only one person in the entire known universe who did, an emergency provision Avon had reluctantly agreed upon. He didn’t like to dwell on the fact that if he slipped and fell on a bad day – not that he ever had, as yet – he might be forced to remain on the floor until help could be found, and there really was only one person he would allow to.

This day was turning into one of the bad ones. The time when he could surrender to insomnia and remain on his feet through the night and still be functional the next day was well and truly over. Meeting a young Blake had only served to show him just how much time had really passed since he’d first set foot on the _Liberator_ and had been compelled to turn his life upside down. At the moment, Avon felt faintly nauseous with pain and fatigue, and was happy to curl up in bed for a few hours. By all rights, it should have been a few more hours, but he needed to do his work on the _Liberator_ sooner rather than later, or risk a media outcry when the ship was spotted. Years ago, he might have returned to the ship immediately – now, he didn’t trust himself with the teleport let alone the _Liberator_ ’s systems in his exhaustion. He hadn’t worked with something so complex in a very long time.

Grateful, as ever, for the non-verbal controls, Avon opened the hidden doorway, and limped into his inner sanctum. When he was well, he only came here to sleep – when he wasn’t, this was the only place he could truly breathe. For a while, he had considered modelling it after his cabin on the _Liberator_ , but in the end had decided against it. It wouldn’t do to have such an immediate trigger for painful memories so present in his life, even if a lot of the more positive experiences of his life so far were linked to the _Liberator_ as well. Instead, the room had been turned into what Vila had termed ‘a nest’ when it was still under construction, and Avon had to admit that the description wasn’t entirely inappropriate even now. Rugs were a trip hazard, but both the armchair and bed were invitingly comfortable. Instead of window shades there were elegant curtains to keep out the light of day when necessary, and then of course there was his little workstation and the bookcase, the only real luxury he allowed himself.

Paper books were redundant, to a degree, but Avon found that he enjoyed the tactility, and enough of the books in his possession had been liberated from the Federation’s forbidden archive: Reading that even Avon, who had read his fair share of forbidden volumes, had not been able to lay his hands on.

Now, he simply made sure that the door had closed behind him, set the alarm and settled down on the bed. He placed the stick by his side – it was, after all, an effective weapon of self-defence, if slightly messy, should he need it – and slipped off his shoes. There wasn’t really any energy left to change as the pain flared, and Avon lay back, trying to distract himself with the changing starscape projected onto the vaulted ceiling. This _was_ a concession to the pleasant memories of the _Liberator_ , and the childhood interest in astronomy he had never pursued. A sharp clap dimmed the light to nothing but the stars above, and Avon rolled to his side, too tired to slip under the covers, but too aching not the remember to rest his upper leg on the specially designed pillow.

Unusually for him, he was exhausted enough to be asleep within minutes.

 

When he woke to the alarm, he felt worse. His mind had benefitted from the rest, no doubt, but his body felt stiff and sore. On a normal day, he would have stayed in. Perhaps not in bed, if he could help it, because the immobility tended to make things worse, but certainly in his rooms, perhaps even inside the inner sanctum.

If this had been back in the days before his failed bank fraud, he would have been obliged to notify the security firm he worked with, his superiors, and ultimately his doctor to confirm his illness. Not that he’d been ill very often in those days. Now, he was in a position where he could not turn up to the most important of meetings and no one would dare to think twice about it. _No one_ was in a position to criticise the Chief Advisor, unless they were one Vila Restal. Avon had found that dropping Vila a line wasn’t much of an effort – or too demeaning. Vila knew that unless Avon was allowed this, he would be off the planet, away from anyone’s reach before anyone could say his name twice fast. Showing a little curtesy to a very old friend seemed like a small price to pay for that freedom.

Still, this wasn’t a normal day. And it was Roj Blake’s fault.

Avon didn’t pause to appreciate the fact that he’d assumed he’d never think that again, and pushed himself into a sitting position. His leg was giving him hell, the pain so acute that he barely felt it when he hit his knuckles on the bedside table, fumbling for the painkillers.

Avon hadn’t particularly enjoyed having any medical professional touch him, after everything, but Vila had insisted. Now there were medicines and the certainty that part of the pain was psychological, even if no one could determine whether it was the Federation’s doing, or Avon’s all on his own. Privately, Avon was betting money on the latter. And well, perhaps the doctors had also met him on a bad day. Naturally, they wouldn’t be thrilled with three hours of sleep at night either, but Avon wasn’t planning on letting them know. It made no difference in the end. The only difference was that his medicine intake was another thing monitored by his computer systems – on instructions from Vila’s medical professionals – and Avon _enjoyed_ proving its predictions wrong because, even now, people underestimated him. And if he was tricking his own subconscious in that way, Avon wasn’t complaining.

Still, today wasn’t a day he could afford to be stubborn if he planned to make it to lunchtime without collapsing. Waiting just for a moment for the medicine to begin taking the edge off, Avon moved to the side of the bed, settling his feet into the small rug that was laid out there – a concession to the fact that he disliked the feeling of the cool floor under his feet in the mornings, trip hazard be damned. Avon settled the walking stick firmly on the ground – it wouldn’t do to be careless when he was feeling this badly – and undertook the few steps to the computer station, where he called up the security feed compiled of the cameras installed around the suite. Blake was still in his room – asleep, by the looks of it. No time like the present, then.

Avon located his shoes, and clipped on one of the emergency teleport bracelets. He rarely used the teleport for short distances. The emergency transport had been designed as an escape route, to get him into the teleport room from anywhere on the planet just so long he was carrying a bracelet, and from there on he would be able to go anywhere. Vila also owned an emergency bracelet, if he would just remember to take it with him when travelling. Thankfully, they hadn’t needed it, but Avon liked to test the functionality every once in a while. Today, it wasn’t so much a test, of course, but avoiding any stretch of walking he could seemed like a prudent idea, even if it was just the few meters across his suite.

Once in the teleport room, he reset the coordinates to deposit him directly onto the _Liberator_ ’s flight deck, and braced himself.

Being back on the _Liberator_ was nearly as jarring the second time as it had been the first, but at least he was alone, now. He was often alone in the vast expanse of corridors in his dreams, endlessly wandering around the long-lost ship. It depended on the day whether it was a pleasant sensation or not. Often, there were ghosts.

“Hello, Zen,” Avon said, feeling foolish for a moment for making conversation with a computer. _Getting old and sentimental._

Zen’s visual reference point blinked at him.

“Take _Liberator_ to a new geostationary orbit, away from frequented flight paths.”

The engines hummed to life under his feet, and Avon made his way slowly towards his own station. It was a matter of moments to link up his private server down in the suite with the _Liberator_ ’s systems – in the end, it hadn’t been a surprise that when Avon sat down to develop his own programming language, he’d wanted to base it on Zen’s, having spent years trying to learn its secrets. Slave hadn’t been all that different; presumably there was some objective logic in the design, then, regardless of the fact that Avon had always found it just genuinely beautiful. It was a thought he had never voiced – more sentimentality, perhaps – but that beauty had been as much part of his reason to copy the language as the logic of it. He doubted that Slave’s designer had had such considerations in mind. After all, Dorian had had all the time in the world to get what he wanted, but hardly the mind to genuinely appreciate such things.

“Zen, give me a status on your synthesiser facilities?”

“Synthesisers functioning at top capacity,” Zen boomed, giving the overtired Avon a headache.

“All right. I have component list for you. Synthesise them right here on the flight deck.”

“Confirmed. Stand clear.”

Avon nodded, to this date still not sure whether Zen was able to interpret the gesture or just assumed that the instructions were obeyed. The system that linked up to the autorepair set about constructing the parts he had asked for in the front section of the flight deck. He hadn’t used the synthesiser often in the _Liberator_ days – the flight deck was usually too busy, and he had been far more mobile, and there had been plenty of scrap in the storage. The synthesisers were useful, but had an important limitation: they would only produce items that were native to the _Liberator_ ’s systems, replacement parts. Any system or “gadget”, in Vila’s words, Avon had designed or improved over the years using materials from elsewhere required them to obtain them again once the system broke down. Now, Avon was grateful that he had managed to design the second version of the original detector screen out of cannibalised parts from various _Liberator_ systems instead of items they had acquired elsewhere and could never seem to find the time to replace. For what he was doing now bringing in items from elsewhere in secrecy would have been far more complex and time-consuming. Technically, Avon had the access, but it would raise questions he didn’t want to answer. With the synthesisers, all he had to do was wait for _Liberator_ to assemble the items and then put them together, finally linking them up to the _Liberator_ ’s system circuit so Zen could access the finished shield. It was only a rudimentary shield that would not last for very long, but it would at least deflect sensor scans, and once the new orbit was established, no one should be coming close enough for a visual ident.

As Avon had promised Vila, the work, once the items had been synthesised, wasn’t complex or long-winded. Instead, Avon surprised himself with wanting to linger. The flight deck sofa had never been very comfortable, the air was certainly better in his own rooms, and he was in need of breakfast. Still, he was reluctant to leave the _Liberator,_ a confused mix of palpable homesickness and the fear that it might turn out to be a dream after all holding him back even as he had double and triple checked that the shield was fully functional. Finally, reluctantly, Avon raised his bracelet. _Old and sentimental fool._

 

When Avon returned and fell more than sat down at the workstation in the main room, he found Blake awake. The camera showed him comfortably reclining on his bed and thumbing through pages on an electronic reader. According to the records, Blake hadn’t gone for a wander around the suite, either. That wouldn’t have been anything Avon hadn’t anticipated, but it was just as well. He locked down the computer system and returned to his sanctuary to attend to his own morning toilet. Now that the painkiller had had time to get to work, he felt at least able to locate a new set of clothes and still his hands long enough to shave. There was nothing to be done about the fact that he still looked pale and drawn, a pinch of pain about the eyes. Blake would have to live with the fact that his revolution, even at its successful conclusion despite all odds, had, visibly, cost them.

Avon returned to the main room, debating, for a moment, whether to settle down in an armchair and give his leg some much needed rest, or risk its wrath later just so he could appear less of an invalid in front of Blake, who clearly hadn’t learned that his pity was unwelcome even as it was well-meaning. It wasn’t really a choice, in the end.

Avon settled in front of the computer screens, calling up the routine security board – no new logs, other than the nightly scare – and messages – none. He sent a quick private note to Vila, letting him know that the _Liberator_ was safe, for now, and opened the internal communications link. He rarely had occasion to use them, but like all computer functions liked to keep them in excellent working order.

“Blake.”

On the screen, Avon watched Blake start, then put down the reader and reach for the comm link with a smile. Avon cut the surveillance feed. “Avon, good morning.”

“You will find that it is past midday,” Avon said, then checked himself. There was no reason to be this frustrated with Blake – after all, he had barely even talked to the man yet. “Would you care to join me for some lunch?” he continued, in a milder tone.

“Absolutely. Where do you want me?”

“Just come to the main room.” Avon cut the connection before Blake could say anything else, and forced himself to calm down. This wasn’t the Blake they had known. This wasn’t the Blake he had _shot and killed_. Even if he had spent the morning catching up on current history, Blake wouldn’t know anything about that. The debacle of Gauda Prime had been first published as Federation propaganda, with all living eyewitnesses safely in the hand of the Federation interrogators, and rejected as a matter of course once the Federation had fallen. Neither Avon nor Vila was inclined to enlighten anyone that, for once, the Federation had told the truth. For a moment, Avon imagined himself telling Blake – imagined his face when he learned that Avon had looked his counterpart in the eyes as he was dying from the three shots Avon had inflicted. The thought was chased by bone-deep weariness, and Avon distracted himself by climbing to his feet and actually making the way to the food synthesiser. The physical pain was at least something he understood.

Blake’s entrance was punctuated by a yawn, partially designed to alert Avon to his presence, no doubt.

Avon turned around to face him, and found that Blake’s attention had, again, been drawn by the view. “You have a lovely view,” he said, with a soft smile. Avon couldn’t remember how long it had been since he’d seen Blake this relaxed.

“Yes,” he agreed inanely, just to say something. “What would you like?”

“Don’t you have fresh food?”

“You will find that the synthesisers here are much better than what you’re used to.”

“Very well. A lunch platter, then?”

Avon nodded and busied himself with the controls, trying to force down the sudden nausea. A side effect of the pain or the medication, nothing more. He should eat, too.

After a moment’s hesitation, Avon called up cinnamon bread and tea for himself. It wasn’t healthy, and back on _Liberator_ it wouldn’t have been worth trying, but this was his own home, and the doctors that had checked Avon over at Vila’s behest kept telling him that it was better to eat something sugary and sweet than nothing at all. Besides, Avon shouldn’t be censoring himself because of Blake, and was irritated at the impulse. Back on the _Liberator_ , he had never much cared what Blake thought of his private affairs – why start now?

Fortunately, it made no difference to the synthesiser where to materialise the product, and Avon had it set up so the food could appear on the coffee table just as easily as in the wall recess. Vila liked to stay away from the more complex coordinate system, but it had saved Avon a lot of unnecessary walking and carrying.

Blake came over to the table with curiosity written on his face, and settled into the armchair he had occupied the night before. It was just as well – it was the third chair of which Avon sometimes wondered why he kept it at all. He didn’t receive visitors other than Vila, and to Avon’s everlasting relief there was only one of him.

Avon sat down, and swung both his legs and the walking stick up onto the little footstool after picking up his tea. It warmed hands he only now realised had been cold.

“Tea, Avon?” Blake asked lightly, selecting lunch meats for his first slice of bread.  

“It’s an acquired taste.” Acquired from Vila, in fact, who had sworn to the beneficial qualities of white tea back when he hadn’t been quite Chancellor and Avon had been quite ill. There were worse things he could have picked up from the erstwhile thief.

“I was looking at recent historical records,” Blake hedged, swallowing a bite. His face suddenly lit up with pleased surprise, clearly derailing whatever thought he had had on recent history. “This is really good!”

“Yes. We’ve had some technical progress in the last years.” It was considerable progress, but Avon knew that talking about science would only distract Blake from politics for so long. There was no point in putting off the inevitable. “You have questions.”

Blake chewed and swallowed slowly, his gaze travelling, predictably, to Avon’s legs. “Yes,” he said, and paused for a moment.

Avon resisted the urge to close his eyes. The images in his memories were still more horrifying than the picture of Blake sitting in his suite of rooms. He focussed on the tea instead, wishing he had a blanket. He shouldn’t be cold – perhaps he was coming down with something.

“What happened to the others, Avon? The _Liberator_?”

Well. “Gan died in Control on Earth. We were able to locate the new Control, and ended up the first line of defence against the alien fleet. We had to abandon ship. When we could return to the _Liberator_ , we couldn’t locate Blake and Jenna. Two new people joined us, then – but I suppose they would mean nothing to you.” Avon closed his eyes after all. “Cally died in the same trap that cost us the _Liberator_. Jenna died running a Federation blockade. The rest died on Gauda Prime, about two years after the crew you knew split up.”

“Including my counterpart?”

Not so long ago, that question would have cost Avon a cup, falling from suddenly nerveless fingers. Now, he forced his hands still, nearly biting through his lip in the process. “Yes.”

“I’m sorry.”

“ _You_ shouldn’t be,” Avon said, and took a too big, too hot sip of tea before he could say anything else.

Blake looked vaguely puzzled and sympathetic. If he could have, Avon would have run from the gaze.

“A Federation ambush?”

In the end, it had been, but it still felt insignificant in the face of things – despite the Federation horror that had come after, for both Vila and him. “In a way.” Easier to just agree.

“If this is the outcome, I suppose it was worth the sacrifice,” Blake mused, sounding abstracted. It would be, from his point of view, nothing more than a thought experiment. None of their lives must seem real to him.

Avon laughed despite himself, then clamped down on the sound, stuck as something hysterical and insane in his throat. “You would say that.”

“What you and Vila have built here–”

“A fragile peace built on a sea of blood, Blake, nothing more.”

“What happened to you?”

Ah, there it was. A deceptively open question, of course, one which would allow Avon to evade and avoid, should he chose to – would force Blake to be more specific, more precise, more stubborn. Avon was tired of the game. “Federation interrogators can be quite creative.”

“How long?”

“A year? Perhaps two.”

“How can you not know?!”

“Would you have wanted to check? It could have been a month, or ten years. It was hell, either way.”

“Avon…”

“Spare me your declarations of pity, Blake.”

Blake ate in silence for a while. Avon’s appetite was well and truly gone and he felt chilled to the bone. Sleep deprivation was probably part of it, but Avon began to suspect that there was a psychological factor to his sudden cold. If his visitor had been Vila, he might actually have asked him to fetch a blanket, but Blake? Not in a million years.

“Vila seemed… fine,” Blake said, at length.

“He is, for the most part. He is more resilient than any of us, Blake, not a naïve young Delta for you to protect.”

“I can see that.”

The chime of the private channel cut suddenly through the air, and Blake looked up with new interest. “Speak of the devil.” Avon reached down to the hidden control panel in the arm of the chair and opened the connection. “Go ahead, Vila.”

“Is… our friend there with you?”

Avon glanced at Blake. “Yes.”

“Good. I’ve arranged a few things and am coming over in an hour or two. Nothing much will happen today, I’m afraid, but perhaps we can go out into the gardens later. I try to make this quick.”

“Yes.”

Vila was silent for a moment, then: “Avon?”

“Yes?”

“Shallows?”

Avon closed his eyes for a moment, just breathing, and shut out Blake’s quizzical expression. “Yes.”

Vila’s voice took a carefree lilt – fake, but appreciated. “All right! This shouldn’t take long. Open a window and enjoy the sunshine! I’ll be there as soon as I can.” Vila cut the connection.

Avon remained where he was, eyes closed, and focussed on his breath. He knew that, should he open his eyes, he’d come face to face with Blake’s questioning glance, but he wasn’t ready to face it.

“Avon? The windows open?”

 _Not_ the question he’d been expecting, but then the ramp leading down into the garden was easy to miss when faced with the view. Avon cautiously flicked his eyes open, and found Blake looking not at him at all, but at the window front. “Yes.”

“Do you mind?”

“The control is on the wall. Go ahead. But don’t step outside the force field. For now.”

Blake rose with an effortlessness that sent a pang of envy through Avon he’d never felt when it’d just been Vila. Blake set to work at the controls, sliding back the glass doors. For a while, he just stood there in silence, breathing in the fresh air that carried through the security force field. Avon enjoyed the tendrils of flowery smells and true warmth wafting over to his chair, and gave in to the need to close his eyes.

“Why the decorations?” Blake asked.

“Ah. They are for Freedom Week.”

“Freedom Week?”

“The Week of Freedom and Liberation, if you want the official title.”

“The end of the Federation?”

“Yes. Not that it was over in a week, or a month. Vila’s advisors couldn’t settle on a date.”

“Aren’t you Vila’s advisor?”

“ _Not_ for petty politics.”

“I’m glad, you know.”

“Of what?”

“That it’s still you and Vila. I’m glad neither of you was left alone.”

Avon opened his eyes for a moment, just to set down the empty cup of tea. “My counterpart?” With Blake off to his left, it was easier to avoid looking his way.

“Yes. You know what he was doing when he got killed, don’t you?”

“I can make an educated guess, yes.”

“Tell me?”

Avon found himself smiling suddenly, and gave the answer he had given his own Blake, so many years ago. “You wouldn’t understand.”

“Try me?”

“No.”

Blake nodded, and changed the subject. “I’m not keeping you from important work, am I?”

“Not at the moment.” Important work? In his current state? Even Avon wasn’t that foolish.

Blake leant against the wall, looking out into the distance. “I never noticed. I guess I didn’t know him very well at all.”

“What are you talking about?”

“Avon – my Avon, not that he was ever mine.”

“I should think not,” Avon said, falling into old patterns, vaguely remembered, and trying to feel safe and warm.

Blake went on as if he hadn’t been interrupted. “I never noticed that he and Vila had become friends. I thought he despised Vila.”

Once, Avon would have told him that he did. He saw little point in it, now.

“Gan was grieving, of course,” Blake went on. “He and Vila had been fast friends even before Cygnus Alpha. But the look on Avon’s face when he learned that Vila had died... He didn’t talk to anyone for a long while after. If Jenna hadn’t stopped him, he’d have hijacked the ship and run while I was down on that planet feeling sorry for myself. I never realised that he felt suddenly alone against the four of us. Cally had an idea, I think, but I was too blind to see or listen.”

Avon cleared his throat senselessly. “You might be overstating my sentiments for Vila, Blake.”

Blake turned his head to meet his gaze. “No, I think not.”

They lapsed into silence after that.

Avon dozed in the armchair, and Blake went to collect his reader, then settled down on the floor right by the window, in a patch of sunshine like a cat, and divided his attention between the reading and staring at the view. There were worse ways to spend an afternoon.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> About updates: I am considering updating weekly on either Thursday/Friday/Saturday, depending how the days work out. But I have a thing all week next week, so you get this chapter now, and possibly another one on Saturday to tide you over until the next one in two week's time.


	4. Chapter 4

Vila didn’t bother knocking when he arrived at Avon’s suite. He just nodded at the security guard and let himself in, taking care that the door was secure behind him before he called out. “Avon? Blake?”

Blake emerged from the doorframe to the main room, cradling a digital reader. “Hello again, Vila.”

Despite himself, Vila felt a sudden pang of alarm. “Where’s Avon?”

Blake nodded back into the living room. “Asleep, I think. He isn’t well, is he?”

Vila quickly stripped off his coat and gloves, and peered around the door. He found Avon sitting back in his armchair, shifting slightly in uneasy slumber. Unreasonably relieved, Vila turned back to Blake. “Infrequently. Look, Blake, do you mind going to your room for a bit? It’s not terribly polite, but there are things I need to talk to Avon about. I’ll come and collect you for a bit of a walk later?”

“Oh, I understand.” Blake lifted the reader. “Take your time. I have plenty to catch up on.” He smiled his diplomatic smile that Vila remembered all too well and stepped past him, heading down the corridor.

Vila waited to see whether he stayed gone, then hurried over to Avon’s side. From close up, he could see the lines of distress on his face, the terror of a nightmare not quite taking hold. Just in time, then. Vila crouched down and placed his hand on Avon’s shoulder. “Avon? It’s just me.”

Not unexpectedly, Avon came awake instantly, pain and panic flickering over his face before he could collect himself. He ran a shaking hand over his face. “Blake?” His voice was hoarse.

“I sent him to his room.”

Avon gave a small chuckle at that. “I should have liked to see you try that on the _Liberator_.”

Vila gripped his hand, bringing Avon’s attention back to the present. “How bad is it?”

 A sigh. “Bad.”

“Can you move?”

“I’d rather not.”

Vila had expected that. “Does Blake know?”

“He might have some idea by now.” Avon shifted and winced. When he spoke again, it sounded faint. “I should probably lie down.”

“Painkiller?”

“I took one this morning.” Avon glanced past Vila at the wall chronometer. “About five or six hours ago.”

“All right.” Vila squeezed the clammy fingers. He might be a fool, but he had been prepared for this. The sleepless night, the stress of encountering _Blake_ , of all people – at least, physical infirmity he had learned to deal with. It was the mental anguish of the night before that had terrified him, but mentally, Avon seemed to be surprisingly fine, certainly better than when Vila had arrived the day before. Perhaps the physical pain was a simply a powerful distraction.

Vila pushed himself to his feet and went over to the hidden door to Avon’s sanctum, pressing his palm against the invisible scanner. The door slid away, revealing the darkened room beyond. Vila pulled the curtains open a fraction, just enough so he could see, and located the painkillers on the side table before scuttling back to Avon’s side.

“Here.”

“Thanks.” Avon swallowed the medicine with a weary grimace, his head back against the armchair.

“Nausea?”

“Yes.”

Vila scanned the coffee table, and found two slices of cinnamon bread on one plate and a larger, empty one. “Have you eaten?”

“Just tea. It’ll have to do, for now.”

“You need rest.”

Avon peered at him through half-lidded eyes. “How did you escape the cabinet so quickly?”

“A bit of clever diplomacy. Don’t worry, it won’t come back to haunt you. How’s the pain?”

“Not getting worse.”

That wasn’t what Vila had hoped to hear. “Should we…?”

Avon shook his head slightly. “It should have kicked in by now.” He moved his walking stick and shifted his legs off the footstool, face contorting to a grimace. Vila let him be – he’d be more of a hindrance than a help at this point, and it would be enough if he was there to catch him when Avon would inevitably stumble.

As a matter of fact, sheer stubbornness got Avon all the way to the bedroom door before his leg folded under him, and Vila caught him with the expert knowledge of long practice.

“Thanks.”

Vila nodded, letting him catch his breath, before they undertook the final few meters. “It’s Blake, isn’t it? That’s why it’s this bad.”

“Possibly”, Avon said, then reconsidered, “probably. Are you surprised?”

“No.”

“Don’t mention this to him.”

“Who do you take me for, Avon?” Vila asked with mock indignation.

Avon smirked, the expression temporarily smoothing out the lines of pain. “A delta thief too clever for his own good.”

“Huh. That wasn’t even an insult.” Vila lowered him carefully onto the edge of the bed, and was relieved to find Avon’s eyes shining with mirth.

“Shut up, Vila.”

Vila did as he was told, and busied himself instead with getting the bed ready while Avon used the temporary respite of the fast-acting painkillers to remove his boots, trousers and jacket. Vila knew well that the medicine would burn itself out before long – if they were lucky, it would work just long enough for Avon to fall back asleep.

“Do you want the window open before I go?”

“Please. But keep the curtain closed.”

Vila waited until Avon was settled down on the mattress, his knee elevated and the soft blanket tucked around him. His hand had twisted into the faux fur of the present Vila had made him the day he’d been sworn in as Chancellor, a fluffy throw pillow with a starscape pattern, and his gaze was far away.

“All right?”

Avon blinked, focussing back on Vila. “Yes.”

“I’ll take care of Blake. Get some sleep.” Vila pulled the curtain closed, casting the room in shadows, and headed towards the door.

“Vila.”

The soft call stopped him. “Yes?”

“Do you think… the medical facilities on the _Liberator_ …”

“Without Orac to operate them?”

“No, they aren’t any more advanced than what we have here now,” Avon said quietly, answering his own question. He moved, drawing the pillow closer to him – hiding his face in it or just resting his head against it, Vila couldn’t tell in the darkness.

“Sleep well. And yell if you need anything. I’ll wear a comm link.”

Avon gave a non-committal hum, and Vila left him alone, letting the door close behind him. There were horrors crowding at the back of Vila’s own mind, had been all day long, and seeing Avon ill wasn’t helping. Vila was used to ignoring the more horrid aspects of his existence – had been used to that before he even joined Blake on the _Liberator_ – but the memories of the hell the Federation had put him and Avon through after Gauda Prime were better left wholly buried. Blake’s presence seemed to push them to the foreground, never mind that Blake – their Blake – had been dead and cold by then. Vila tried to remember happier days, back on the _Liberator_ , when Avon could still laugh without sounding like he was in infinite pain, and Blake was alive, well, and without the gleam of fanaticism in his eyes. It wasn’t easy, but the Blake waiting for him down the corridor was closer to that Blake than to the spectre of Gauda Prime.

Vila went to knock at Blake’s door, which slid open immediately.

“Ah, Vila.” Blake placed his reader on the side table and came up to the door. “Is Avon not joining us?”

“He needs rest.”

“Of course.”

“I’ll have some items for a proper disguise delivered, but for now, put this on, and address me as Chancellor when we’re outside? The gardens are fairly private, but not exclusive.” Vila pressed the bundle he’d brought with him into Blake’s arms.

Blake shook it out, revealing the coat to the current fashion, alongside an equally fashionable cloth cap. His expression was caught somewhere between bemused and sceptical. “I could go up to the _Liberator_ and change into something appropriate.”

“Not without Avon, you can’t. Just do it, Blake. It’s only for the distance. We’ll have something better by tomorrow.”

“All right.”

Avon had a point, Vila thought vaguely. This Blake was a lot easier to manage than the angry man they’d known on their _Liberator_. Perhaps it was the fact that the Federation was gone, or Blake was still reeling himself but refusing to show it. It wouldn’t be a surprise. Blake had rarely allowed them to see how bad things were until he could hide it no longer. Vila had always known that the napping on the flight deck was an indicator of nightmares, but Blake had never said anything, and Vila had never asked.

Vila picked up his own coat and gloves on the way back to the living room, and quickly set about shifting the phase of Avon’s security force field to let them pass, then waved a hand at the ramp. “After you.”

Blake spent a long time just walking by Vila’s side in silence, drinking in the tamed nature of the enclosed garden, while Vila tried to avoid stealing too many glances at the windows of Avon’s inner sanctum, where the curtain remained drawn and shifted only in the slight breeze that brushed through the barely opened window. Ordinarily, if Avon let him, Vila would sit with him, reading in silence or aloud, or just chattering away without expecting Avon to contribute more than a hum here and there. Being out here, with Blake, felt strange, dreamlike. Vila couldn’t help wondering when it would turn into a nightmare.

“So I died in Control?” he found himself asking, startling Blake from his calm musings.

A dark cloud passed over Blake’s face and he sat down heavily on a bench, staring into the distance. “Yes. You – _he_ was trying to close a security door behind us. It discharged right through him.”

“At least it was quick, then.”

“Yes. It was quick.” Blake paused, looking at his hands, and Vila could guess what was coming before he opened his mouth again. “There’s something about the death of Blake here that Avon wouldn’t tell me. Will you?”

“You don’t want to hear it, believe me.”

“I seem to be stuck here and I want to help!” Blake gave a nervous laugh. “I’ve lived all my life trying to dismantle the Federation. The Federation is gone. What now?”

“We’ll find a place for you. You could work as a technician again. Avon sees to it that the sciences are well funded.”

“And hide my identity forever?”

“Well…”

“I don’t think I could.”

Vila could understand that, in an abstract sort of way. But what could they do with Blake-as-Blake? The uproar in the press would be deafening; even if the multiverse theory was believed, it would seriously weaken both Vila’s and Avon’s position, and potentially destabilise the entire government. There was no way they could risk it, not without careful thought and planning. His wild idea of abdicating in Blake’s favour might have worked if Blake had been alive all along. But Blake was dead, and this wasn’t their Blake. Wasn’t even _a_ Blake that should belong to this time. Zen hadn’t been forthcoming according to Avon’s private note from earlier in the day, but if Avon’s speculation was correct, Blake might not even be stuck – rather, he might not be able to remain, and they would need to figure out a way to get him back sooner rather than later.

“It will take time,” Vila told Blake simply.

Blake shrugged. “Yes. I expect it will. I’m not an impatient man if there are no innocents dying across the galaxy.”

“There aren’t.”

They strolled about the garden until the sun was setting, then returned inside. The comm link had remained quiet the entire afternoon, but Vila activated it now as he closed the force field and window behind them. He could simply have looked in on Avon, but Blake had only gone to his room to freshen up and could be back at any moment. Avon didn’t appreciate the door to his inner rooms being open in the presence of anyone but Vila.

“Avon? Are you awake?”

There was a long silence, then the link connected and Avon’s tired voice answered. “What is it?”

“We’re back, and Blake has gone to freshen up. Do you want to join us for dinner?”

There was a pause, long enough for Vila to step towards the hidden door in alarm.

“What do I say to him, Vila?”

“We don’t need to tell him anything. You managed fine through the day.”

“I was trying not to scream with pain!” Avon shot back, sounding more awake and considerably irritated.

“I’m sorry.”

“… no. Vila…”

“Dinner? I’ll be there.”

“Yes. All right. Give me a moment.”

“Of course. I’ll go distract Blake.”

Vila took the opportunity to return his coat to the hallway, lingering over the side table where he had laid out his gloves. Blake rounded the corner just as Vila heard the door to Avon’s rooms slide into the lock again, and he quickly stepped into Blake’s path.

“Did you enjoy the shower, Blake?”

Blake grinned. “Very much so. The _Liberator_ is a wonderful ship, but she is only a spaceship. It is good to be on firm ground – on _Earth_ again. The fresh air was invigorating.”

“Well, then it probably did wonders for your appetite,” Vila quipped, and stopped fiddling senselessly with his gloves. “Any preferences?”

“Unless you still have doubts about the functionality of my synthesisers, Blake?” Avon’s sardonic voice added, and he leant against the doorframe by Vila’s side. He still looked wan, and was keeping his weight off his leg, but at least he sounded firm and lucid.

Vila caught Blake darting a glance between them, then he shook his head, smiling at Avon. “No doubts at all. Why don’t you pick something for me? I’ve been a bit out of touch with contemporary cuisine.”

“Avon?”

Avon shot him a quick glance. “Your choice, Vila.”

Avon’s appetite wasn’t back, then, which overall wasn’t a good sign. Vila covertly tapped his panic-implant, indicating to his security staff that he would stay the night, and led the way back into the sitting room.

 

Avon watched Blake trail after Vila with a sense of wry amusement, tempered only by the persistent ache in his limbs and the relief of having Blake’s attention diverted off him. There had been times on the _Liberator_ where Blake had been too much, but Avon couldn’t remember ever feeling so persistently left-footed for so long. It wasn’t as though he owed _this_ Blake anything. If anything, _this_ Blake owed them, for taking him in instead of blowing the _Liberator_ sky-high, no questions asked, when he threatened Earth. The Federation had never been so considerate, but the planetary defence shield was there precisely so _they_ could be.

Still. If Avon had been feeling any better, he’d have excused himself to work. As it was, he’d rather keep an eye on Blake than constantly be aware of his presence while trying to rest in his private rooms.

Avon closed his hand tightly around the walking stick – still the one he had picked up in the teleport section the day before, the one with the hidden weapon, though Avon wasn’t sure of his ability to use it now. The thrill at the excitement, at having something to do other than day-to-day politics had faded rather more quickly than he’d expected.

Vila was busy passing Blake a series of steaming dishes – incongruous for both his fool’s persona back from the _Liberator_ days and that of the Chancellor of Earth. On the _Liberator_ , Vila wouldn’t have looked twice at well-tailored clothes as he wore now – not that personally tailored clothes had been available – _nor_ have taken charge, and as Chancellor, he never allowed himself to prattle on as he was now, his voice washing over Avon like a familiar, soothing wave.

Avon moved the folded blanket he had brought from the bedroom from the backrest to the arm of his chair and sat, getting out of Blake’s way as he balanced two more bowls and set them down on the table, which was already overflowing.

“Enough, Vila,” Avon said, cutting into Vila’s constant flow of words, and Vila subsided, stopping the flow of food.

“All right. It’s not like we can’t get more if we want it. Sit down, Blake, I’ve got this.”

Blake settled into the third armchair – Avon refused to think of it as _Blake’s_ – with a bemused look flickering between Vila and the collection of steaming food. That was right – _this_ Blake had barely known Vila, and not even _their_ Blake had ever particularly understood their resident petty thief and not-so-petty cracksman.

Vila returned to the table balancing two bottles of brightly coloured drinks – one alcoholic and one just juice, if he remained true to pattern – and three glasses. “Dig in! Drink, Blake?”

“Alcohol?”

“Nothing too strong.”

“Very well then.”

“Avon?”

Avon just shook his head, and Vila set down a glass with the second drink in front of him. “Mango and orange,” he explained, and began opening some of the wooden food containers, repurposing the lids as plates. “Rice balls, Avon?”

Filling and not too spicy without being completely bland, perfect for the queasy feeling that had settled deep in Avon’s stomach and wasn’t going away. Vila was getting to know him too well – on the other hand, perhaps that had happened a long time ago.

Blake, fortunately, was too distracted by the selection and abundance of dishes in front of him to take note of the exchange. “This could feed several families.”

“There is no food shortage, Blake,” Avon cut in, annoyed despite himself at the wistful revolutionary tone in Blake’s voice.

“Not anymore,” Vila chimed, pushing a glass filled to the brim with the cocktail of the day into Blake’s hands.

Vila didn’t sound offended, but then he had become used to being diplomatic over the last years. They might not have built a utopia, but Avon was prepared to swear on his life that, from what they had begun with, they had made it the best it could be. After all, they only had had a few years, though they felt endless to him – measured on the age of the old Federation, it had been no time at all.

“Do you mean to tell me that a Delta family could be having this exact meal right now without having to worry about starving for the next week?”

“What Delta families?” Vila shot back blithely, and grinned when Blake gaped at him.

“What happened?!”

Well. Perhaps Blake’s confusion was amusing. “Nothing,” Avon said, and found himself reaching for his own glass. “The grade system is gone, dismantled.”

“Right!” Vila said, his voice ringing with rare pride. Usually, there wasn’t really anyone either of them could brag to, and Vila was clearly relishing the opportunity. The dismantling of the grade system had been one of his first and primary concerns, and it was also one of the few early projects that had gone over without a hitch. Most of the old Alpha grade had been supporters of the Federation and were standing trial for the crimes committed under their watch – none of the other grades had any objections.

Blake’s glance darted from Vila back to Avon and back to Vila again. “No grade system?”

Avon allowed himself a smirk of his own. “Don’t tell me that wasn’t part of your grand plans.”

Blake looked taken aback. “Well.”

Vila choked on his drink.

“‘Not until free men can think and speak. Not until power is back with the honest man’, was it, Blake?” Avon said.

Now Blake was staring at him. “You remember that?”

Avon forced himself to hold the gaze. “I remember every one of your fine words, Blake.”

“You weren’t going to dismantle the grade system?” Vila asked.

Blake was still trying to stare Avon down. “Over time, certainly. But at first… We could have returned it to its original state, a grading of pure skill not heritage… I didn’t think it would matter if the military control and the drugs were gone and essentials could be equally distributed.”

Vila was on his feet. “It was never like that! There would never have been equal distribution! The Federation was built on the grade system! The suppression worked because the higher grades were clinging to privilege and power!” Well. One dismissed Chancellor Vila Restal at one’s own peril. 

Avon looked away from Blake and towards Vila. “Perhaps we should be glad I shot him, after all.”

It was out before he realised what he was saying.

Silence thundered down on the room, and Avon felt abruptly very ill. The room seemed to be spinning. Vila was staring at him, caught between indignation at Blake, horror and sardonic amusement. His lips twitched, but he made no sound. Avon didn’t dare look away, as if that would sever the last tether to stability. He could feel Blake’s gaze boring into him.

Blake found his voice first. “Well, I suppose I deserved that. At least now I know why you wouldn’t tell me how my counterpart had died.”

Vila broke eye contact with Avon, looking at the floor instead. “It sounded as though you’d sold us out to the Federation. When we realised you hadn’t it was too late.”

 _We_ , as though Vila would have pulled the trigger. Avon found his hand closed painfully tight around the handle of his walking stick, not that he trusted his legs to take him anywhere. The klaxon of an alarm, too well remembered, echoed in his ears. Red, flashing light. Blood.

“It was many years ago, I understand,” Blake said carefully, “I could never joke about what happened to me, but I’m told it is an effective coping mechanism.”

“We… don’t… _joke_ about it,” Avon found himself saying, in a voice entirely unlike his own. He was suddenly on his feet. “Excuse me.”

He could dimly hear Vila calling after him, cut off only when the door swung close behind him. He only just made it into the bathroom before being violently ill. At least, he thought dimly, he hadn’t eaten much yet. In the cool, clean, white silence of the bathroom, the stench of death, the noise and the flashing alarm began to recede eventually.


	5. Chapter 5

Vila tore his gaze away from the closed door, plucking uselessly at the blanket on the armrest of Avon’s vacated chair. “You should… go to your room, Blake. Take some of the food.”

“I’m sorry, Vila. I shouldn’t have brought up politics.”

Vila looked back at Blake, his mind curiously blank. Their Blake, and their universe, had done much to disillusion Vila before the end, but if helping people like _him_ had never even entered Blake’s mind… “I really don’t want to talk to you right now. Take some of the food. It’ll just go cold.”

“Vila, let me help.”

“You can’t seriously believe it would be welcome right now? I’ll handle this, Blake.”

With more grace than their Blake was known to show on occasion, this Blake backed down. “All right.” He collected some of the food containers – the ones they hadn’t even got around to opening – and left the room, his steps fading in the corridor.

Vila keyed Avon’s door open with a sigh.

He found Avon sitting on the floor in the bathroom, his back to the bathtub he only really used to sit on the rim when standing in the walk-in shower next to it was too much of an effort. _Vila_ had probably used the tub more frequently for its actual purpose. Avon had one knee pulled to his chest and the other leg outstretched – a small concession to the injury. His face was ashen, but he met Vila’s gaze.

“Avon?”

“I know where I am, if that’s what you’re asking,” Avon snapped and looked away, his lips twisting. “That went well,” he added softly, voice echoing off the tiles.

Vila joined him on the floor, nearly brushing shoulders. The bathroom was spacious enough, but Avon didn’t shift away. He just titled his head back, resting his neck on the edge of the tub, and looked up at the ceiling lights.

“You never joked about Gauda Prime before,” Vila said, at length.

Avon gave a mirthless chuckle. “I don’t plan to make a habit of it.”

“Do you think if he’d lived…?”

“But he _didn’t_. Who knows? We might all be dead by now. Don’t forget who you’re talking to, Vila – I was never Blake’s most ardent follower. That doesn’t mean I wanted to shoot him.”

They breathed together for a moment in silence.

“You really were thinking of handing over government to him,” Avon said eventually, a vaguely apologetic tone in his voice.

“I’m tired of it, Avon.”

“Yes, I know.”

“With the _Liberator_ , we could be anywhere!” _Home_ , Vila thought.

“Yes,” Avon said only, and shifted suddenly. “Give me a hand? This floor is uncomfortable.”

Vila recognised the statement for what it was – a veiled admission that Avon wouldn’t be able to stand on his own – but he didn’t comment, just pulled the other man to his feet. Vila bent down to pick up the walking stick from where it had fallen, and passed it back to Avon. “I’m staying the night.”

“I thought you might.”

Vila hovered carefully as Avon made his way back to the bedroom and sat down at the edge of the bed. It was unmade, still rumpled from Avon’s earlier rest – not that Vila _ever_ found it made when Avon was actually sleeping.

“Do you think we need to lock Blake in?” Vila asked, moving to the door with the vague intention of rescuing the remainder of the food.

Avon’s head came up sharply, but his gaze was one of consideration. Then, a bitter grin showed, all teeth. “He might lock his own door, but I don’t think so. If I wanted to kill him, I had plenty of opportunity last night. Clearly there’s no need to beat me to it.” He paused. “And he won’t be able to enter the teleport room, let alone work the console.”

“We’ll think of something tomorrow.”

Avon sighed. “Were you always such an irrational optimist, or is this a recent development?”

Vila grinned, feeling suddenly lighter. “Worried you missed something?”

“Go get your food; maybe that will keep you quiet for a while.”

Vila swallowed down the automatic reprimand for Avon to eat something, and left the room to pick up the containers Blake had left behind. When he came back, balancing them and the juice bottle, Avon had moved to the computer station, and the curtains had been drawn back. Vila still envied Avon the window seat behind them – the design of Vila’s own rooms had been… well, there had been some expectations about what a President’s rooms should look like (never mind that Vila refused to continue the title of ‘president’), and Vila hadn’t wanted to object, assuming that it would mean comfort and luxury. Oh, his rooms were comfortable and luxurious, but they were also bland and soulless.

Avon, of course, had dictated every detail of the construction himself.

Vila deposited the containers on the foot of the bed, rummaging around in the drawer under it for the breakfast tray – another item Vila made more frequent use of than its actual owner.

“What are you doing there?” he asked Avon, spreading out the food on the tray and gathering it back up into his arms.

Avon turned the screen towards him without comment, leaning back in the chair when Vila stepped behind him. “Blake.”

“Back in his room.”

“Yes, and eating.”

“So should we. Leave it ‘til morning, Avon?”

“Very well.” Avon shut the surveillance feed down and turned his back to the workstation. “Will you be able to find your mouth if I switch off the light?”

“You just want to show off your starry sky.” Yet another aspect of Avon’s interior decoration that Vila was intensely envious of.

“Showing off isn’t exactly at the forefront of my mind right now, Vila.” Avon didn’t elaborate, but switched light sources with the controls on the workstation before limping over to the window seat where Vila was just getting comfortable. Vila tried not to worry about the fact that the dim light made him look even less well, and that Avon directed his gaze out the window at the view but was clearly seeing none of it. Vila had seen Avon pensive plenty of times, of course, but the moments where Avon seemed to be… elsewhere had become much more frequent after Gauda Prime and much lengthier. Back on the _Liberator_ , Vila could be sure that even if Avon didn’t seem to pay attention, a well-chosen quip would provoke a reaction and prove wrong anyone who’d thought Avon wasn’t listening. Now, every time it happened, Vila worried that Avon might get lost and forget to come back at all.

Vila always thought he himself had been coping rather well with everything that had happened to him in his life, but Vila was deadly afraid of being the last one left.   

He tried to busy himself with the food – now lukewarm at best – and wracked his mind for something to prattle on about. Some political titbit, some irritation with the cabinet members, something about wanting to sneak out and bust a casino, like in the old days, but every topic stuck in his throat, and even the spiciest of foods was suddenly tasteless.

Vila gave in. “Avon? You should get a table in here.”

There was no reaction, of course not.

“Avon? I could read a bit after we finish this.”

Avon didn’t even blink, his eyes tracking the lights of a flyer in the distance.

“Avon? Don’t do this, not today!”

Out of options, Vila reached out and touched Avon’s hand lying limply on the windowsill.

“Kerr?”

 _That_ , finally, got a reaction. Avon blinked and withdrew his hand, his gaze flickering to Vila’s face and away again. “Don’t.”

The panic was too close to the surface for Vila to keep his tone quiet and calm. “Stop going away!”

“I haven’t _gone_ anywhere,” Avon said, but he wouldn’t meet Vila’s eyes.

“Yes, you have. And you know you have!”

Medical doctors were one thing – psychiatrists… just weren’t available. Those who’d had the skill under the Federation had either become Puppeteers or advised on torture, or both. Those who had had a genuine desire and the sensitivity to help people instead of a taste for sadism hadn’t survived under Federation rule. The profession was getting back on its feet – it was much needed, after all, with practically the entire population of the known worlds dealing with some trauma or other, but not only was the skill rare, the trust in the profession was also almost non-existent. Even Vila, who should know better, shuddered at the thought, remembering the re-educators and other friendlies of his youth, not to even speak of the _actual_ Federation torturers. With what they had done to Avon, with what had happened to him before they even laid hands on him, psychiatric help might be much needed. It was also absolutely out of the question unless they wanted to go back to the days of hourly meltdowns. Vila did what he could, but he missed Cally and her calm understanding fiercely.

Avon remained quiet, but his fingers were moving now, tracing the edge where the seat cover met the windowsill. Nothing like the unnatural stillness of before.

“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have raised my voice,” Vila mumbled, prodding at the food item he’d considered eating and now wasn’t sure he could force down.

The corners of Avon’s mouth quirked. “I never showed _you_ such consideration. Why should you?”

“You aren’t well.”

“I won’t get better.”

“You were, before this mess.”

“Was I? I hadn’t noticed.”

“Avon, I’m not talking about the knee.”

“Do you think I am? Vila–” Avon broke off abruptly, and looked back out the window for a long moment, storm clouds passing over his expression.

Vila picked up the piece of fried vegetable he’d been toying with and stuck it in his mouth, chewing but not really tasting any of it.

“What if _I_ left?” Avon said suddenly, almost under his breath.

Vila tried not to choke on the food. “What?!”

“Think about it. If I had left the _Liberator_ to Blake, things would have gone a lot different.”

“Yes! Everyone would be dead! Haven’t you been paying attention to what _that_ Blake was saying?!”

“Ah, but _you_ are still here.”

Vila gaped at him. “What?”

“Blake has a political mind, Vila. Yes, there might be some gaps in his ideals, but he has the tenacity to pursue them in the face of the worst odds. He might be exactly what you need in the cabinet right now. _I_ couldn’t care less for politics.”

“I don’t want to work with Blake!”

Avon smiled faintly. “Perhaps now you don’t. Sleep on it, Vila.”

“If you’re only saying this so you can run off on the _Liberator_ –”

“You can keep the _Liberator_.”

Vila stared at him, trying to find a trace of humour, any evidence of Avon joking on his face, in his eyes. “You’re serious.”

Avon bared his teeth in a disquieting smile that didn’t reach his eyes. “Deadly. When Grant drops by from the Outer Planets, I’ll leave with him. There should be some research station out there that’ll take me.”

“Avon…” So what if it sounded like he was pleading? There was a heavy knot at the back of Vila’s throat.

“Enough, Vila. I’ve had enough.”

“You’re running away.”

Avon shrugged. “If you like. I wonder if I’m not making space for someone better suited to get the work done.”

“We’ve been doing well!”

“Have we?” Avon picked up a piece of vegetable of his own, twisting it between his fingers. “Perhaps. But it can’t have escaped your notice that I avoid more cabinet meetings than I attend these days – that I am _less able_ to attend because _this_ ”, he waved his free hand vaguely towards the walking stick leaning against the bed where he’d left it, “takes up all the energy I have. I’m not a politician, Vila, nor a visionary. If I were well, perhaps, but like this…” Avon bit of a piece of the food and chewed slowly. “Right now you are needed for political stability. I’m more of an obstacle than a help with that.”

“That’s not true.”

“Isn’t it? How many times a week – a _day_ – are you making excuses for _me_ , Vila? How often do I ruffle the feathers of all those dignitaries and cabinet members without even noticing? And what if I slip up again and the world finds out just _how_ their saint died?”

“And what about me?” Vila asked, a dull ache in his chest.

“What about you?”

“I’m a thief, Avon! Not the Chancellor of the Known Worlds!”

“You are now.”

“And _you_ are my Chief Advisor!”

Avon scoffed. “Hardly. It’s a pretty title, Vila, nothing more. I can’t recall a single instance where I could give you advice on anything political. I’ll be more use on a research station.”

“I need you here!”

“You have Blake now.”

“Avon…”

Avon shook his head. “We shouldn’t discuss this tonight.”

Vila pushed the breakfast tray away. The food was cold now, anyway. “I won’t stop you if you really want to leave. You know that, don’t you?”

Avon scanned his face for a long moment. “Yes.”

Swallowing around the knot in his throat, Vila climbed to his feet. “Do you want me to read for a bit?”

“If you like,” Avon said mildly, his voice strangely soft. He pulled himself up with the aid of the wall, and by the time Vila had turned back from the bookcase, had settled down on the bed, blanket crumbled at his feet, and was watching the slowly shifting starscape on the ceiling. His eyes were cast in shadows.

“Avon?”

“Hm?”

“Just checking.” Vila looked down at the book he’d picked, really noticing it for the first time – it was a collection of old Earth legends, a cross between a book of fiction and non-fiction providing the necessary historical context. The Federation had banned it for dangerous ideas and critical academic work alike. “Is this weird, with someone else in the suite?”

Avon flicked his glance down to him. “Why should it be?”

“Don’t mind me, then.”

“Vila, no one can come in here and the room is perfectly soundproof. As well you know.”

“Yeah.” Vila tossed the book at Avon, who caught it with slight reprimand in his eyes, and slipped off his shoes before clambering onto the bed beside Avon. “I should change before long, you know. So should you. That painkiller you took before dinner must be wearing off by now.”

Avon scowled, but didn’t ask how Vila knew.

“That was the third dose today, wasn’t it? You shouldn’t be taking any more.”

“Really, Vila.”

“Just get _some_ rest, Avon, please. For once, eh?”

“Very well.” Avon placed the book on the bed with obvious reluctance and shifted back to sit on the edge, beginning the laborious task of getting changed for the night.

Vila turned his back and slipped out of his own jacket and trousers, taking his time folding them and balling his socks so he wasn’t finished before Avon. It was a ritual Vila stuck to, even though he knew very well that Avon had long figured out that it was only an attempt to be considerate and had told Vila in no uncertain terms that it wasn’t necessary. Vila kept it up because it gave him something to do other than listen to Avon’s pained little hisses. Vila was stuffing his socks into his shoes when he felt the bed dip slightly as Avon shifted his weight again. When he turned around, he found Avon curled on his side facing Vila, and the book was pushed at him with quiet insistence.

“Do you want the blanket?” Vila asked, untangling the two blankets that had bunched up on the foot of the bed.

“Do you want me to fall asleep?”

“Yes,” Vila cheerfully shot back.

Avon smiled faintly. “Then yes.”

Vila pulled up both blankets, leaving Avon to tuck one around himself and spreading the other over his own legs as he sat up against the headboard – or rather against the mountains of pillows Avon had stacked on that side of the bed. The freestanding bed had been a concession to his disability, Vila knew – it was easier to roll across the bed to shorten the walk to the bathroom or to the workstation, and having the bed in the centre of the room gave Avon somewhere to rest on the way from the workstation to the bathroom. The pillows were there to form a makeshift wall in Avon’s back when he was sleeping alone. Things were different when Vila was there.

Vila hefted the book into his lap and opened a page at random, flicking forward to find the beginning of a chapter.

“Enough light for you?” Avon asked, a teasing note in his voice.

“Yeh, I’ve got my book light.” Vila had slipped it from his toolkit earlier and clipped it onto the book now, flicking the small lamp on. “All set?”

Avon just gave a small hum, his eyes closed already.

Vila grinned and began reading.

 

Avon woke gradually, some vague memory of pain and a nightmare waking him up at some point in the night niggling at the back of his mind. It felt dreamlike, surreal, and he decided there was no point in dwelling on it – neither was particularly surprising. At the moment, he was still hazy and warm enough to be able to just… drift and ignore both the chronic pain and _Blake_ for a little longer.

There was a soft, soothing motion on his hair – Vila – and Avon tried not to push into it. The little physical affections were a remainder from prison life and the period Avon hadn’t been at all well. Officially, they had discontinued them, neither of them wanting to admit that they missed them, and certainly not willing to let them carry over into the public sphere that was ever encroaching on both their lives. When Avon left for the Outer Worlds, none of it would matter anyway. Vila would be far away, and far too busy to drop in. The Outer Worlds were a long way from Earth. Avon pushed down the pang of longing and regret at that, and shifted instead, letting Vila know he was awake.

The petting hand went away immediately. “Avon?” The erstwhile thief sounded very close, though he was speaking softly.

Gradually, reluctantly, Avon directed more awareness at his body. His head was still resting on a pillow – more comfortable than Vila’s chest, as long as one was available – but his leg, usually propped up on a pillow of its own, had somehow come to rest on Vila’s legs instead. The damned knee was merely dully throbbing just now, but Avon knew the pain would spike as soon as he moved to stretch it out, and certainly once he attempted to put weight on it. Their blankets were overlapping on top of their legs, creating a pleasant cocoon of shared body heat. His hands, Avon found, were buried in Vila’s pillow – not the one Vila had slept on, but what would always be _Vila’s pillow_ in his head: a gift he had received from Vila many years ago.

“Avon, are you awake?”

“Mm. I’ll let you know.”

Vila chuckled, sending slight vibrations through the mattress and less slight vibrations through his knee. Avon bit down on the pained hiss.

“I’d rather not be, if that’s what you’re asking,” he told Vila.

“We might not be able to put it off for much longer. Blake’s already come looking for you twice. He’s gone to look for _me_ , too, in that second spare room. Good thing you keep those locked.”

“Ugh.” Avon resisted the temptation to bury his face in the pillow between his hands. “Must you, Vila?”

“Needed to get you back for those morning memos at some point, didn’t I?”

“In that case, my apologies for refraining from waking you in the middle of the night with news that could wait until morning. I hope you find Blake more considerate.”

He hadn’t said it without humour, but Vila’s leg was abruptly, painfully withdrawn, and the mattress, though firm enough, shifted as Vila moved to sit on the edge. “Avon…”

“Sorry.” He was sorry, too. Damn, his knee hurt, sending sparks of pain along his nerve ends. Avon shifted onto his back, though the movement did nothing to help, and finally opened his eyes to look up at the ceiling. It was safe, could not hold anguish like Vila’s eyes. “I take it sleeping on it hasn’t changed your mind on the matter,” Avon said.

“Do you still have nightmares every night?” Vila asked, catching Avon off guard with the non-sequitur.

Perhaps that was why he answered honestly. “Usually. I don’t often remember them. Why?”

“You were screaming,” Vila said, sounding… desolate?

“Ah.” Privacy was only one reason why Avon had insisted on soundproofing this inner sanctum. He laid an arm across his eyes, shielding them from the morning light filtering in through the window, and forced himself to wiggle his toes, braced for the pain.

“Avon.”

“I don’t need your help.”

“I know. What if I need yours?”

Avon lowered his arm, letting it fall heavily back onto the bed. “You said you wouldn’t stop me.”

“I won’t.”

“Just resort to Blakean methods of manipulation, then?”

Silence.

Avon sighed. “That was uncalled for. I’m sorry, Vila.”

“Yeah.”

Avon looked at him for the first time, and found him still sitting on the far corner of the bed, his back to Avon, shoulders curled in on himself. Damn it all.

“Vila, I had thought about leaving before Blake showed up. I hadn’t told you because there was no one else I trusted to keep an eye on you.”

“But you trust Blake?”

“Yes.”

“Can’t have trusted him much by the time you shot him.” Oh, Vila could be just as cruel, just a vicious as Avon himself.

“Oh, but I did,” Avon snarled. “That was the whole problem.”

Vila shrugged. “Oh yes, I remember.”

The silence that fell between them was heavy and uncomfortable. Avon suffered through it only for as long as it took him to bring up the energy to attempt getting up. He found it difficult to breathe suddenly. Avon sat up on the edge of the bed, intend on escaping into the bathroom.

Hell, he should have listened to his body.

He was barely upright for a second before his leg simply folded, crashing him to the floor. Through the white-hot haze of pain Avon thought dimly that he must have bruised his forearm where he’d tried to catch himself on the edge of the bed, but the next thing he really registered were Vila’s hands on his arms, the concerned face swimming before him.

“Avon?!”

It shouldn’t be this bad. He’d barely done _anything_ the day before, and the painkillers should have kept him from stiffening up. He’d certainly had slept better and longer with Vila there. Why then was it…?

“Avon? Come on.”

Vila caught him under the arms, shifting him back onto the mattress – not that he’d got far. Someone gave a plaintive wail, and Avon clamped his teeth shut when it occurred that it must be _him_ making the sound. He was shaking, probably, but controlled movement seemed impossible. He just about managed to close his eyes tightly, shutting out Vila’s presence, and wondered whether he was remembering to breathe – he couldn’t feel any of it over the deafening noise of _pain_.

“Avon? Avon, open your eyes.”

Avon didn’t particularly want to, but then, abruptly, the pain receded. The relief almost drove him to tears. Disorientated, he obeyed the request, and found Vila hovering over him. He parted his lips, just to say _something_ , but his mind seemed to have been wiped blank.

Vila was patting at his shoulder, a repetitive motion that wasn’t so much soothing because of the rhythm than because it was very _Vila_. “It’s all right. The painkiller capsule should kick in soon.”

Avon swallowed, finding his throat impossibly tight. “It has,” he said, his voice coming out as a breathless whimper. Gradually, he was able to make sense of his body parts again. Lying on his back, his leg had been elevated expertly onto a stack of pillows. He was just far enough from the edge of the bed that Vila could sit by his side, and his hand had been clenched around the edge of the mattress almost naturally. Avon let go slowly, fearing, for a moment, that it would set him adrift again, but all it did was relax the tension in his shoulders. His other arm, the one he’d crashed into the edge of the bed, lay across his midrift, feeling tender, but compared to the ache in his leg it was nothing. Somehow, he’d kept on breathing.

Vaguely, Avon mused on the fast-acting painkiller now cursing through his bloodstream from his knee outward, relaxing his muscles and, gradually, making his mind sluggish. He didn’t like the capsules, even though they were handy, precisely for that reason – before long, they’d sent him back to sleep.

Vila sighed, sitting heavily down on the edge of the bed by Avon’s hip. “I’d suggest calling the doctors, but I know you won’t have any of it.”

“No. Vila. _Liberator_.” His tongue felt fuzzy, and it was hardly a coherent sentence, but Vila’s eyes lit up with understanding nonetheless.

“But how? You can hardly move.”

“Won’t have to. Teleport.”

“From here?”

Avon nodded, blinking to keep heavy lids open a little longer. “ _Liberator_ ’s bracelets.”

“What about the teleport stress? Avon?”

“Mm. Be fine.”

And with that, he was asleep.


	6. Chapter 6

Vila watched Avon drift off with unease. He’d expected it, of course, when he’d pushed up the leg of Avon’s sleepwear and applied the heavy-duty med capsule directly to his knee, but it had been a long time since he’d had to watch Avon be pulled under by the drowsiness of the drug. It must have been… a year, at least, maybe more. Of course Vila didn’t always know what Avon was up to – sometimes, being a Chancellor was more work than being a rebel had ever been – but he usually knew if Avon was feeling bad. After all, if Avon told anyone, it was him. _Shallows_ had pulled Vila out of enough cabinet meetings before. And yes, perhaps Avon had a point when he’d said that Vila expended unnecessary amounts of diplomacy on accommodating Avon, but he didn’t think he could keep going without Avon there. They had been forced to stick together for so long, neither having anywhere else to go, but now that Vila had the chance – had _had_ the chance, for a few years now, he found that he didn’t _want_ to leave. He thought it had been the same for Avon – after all, he’d stayed around, hadn’t he? On the one hand, the thought that it had been out of concern for Vila’s continued wellbeing was flattering, on the other… that sounded a far too much like just another inconvenient duty to Vila when Avon had said it.

Vila sighed and petted Avon’s hand for a moment, just to make sure he was fully asleep. Then, he slipped off the bed, struggled into his clothes without bothering to freshen up, and went to find Blake.

He didn’t have to go far – Blake was pacing in front of the windows in the sitting room. And of course he knew immediately that something was wrong.

“Vila! What happened?!” His gaze flickered to the hidden door to Avon’s inner rooms, which Vila had keyed close more out of habit than necessity. After all, Avon himself had revealed the location when he’d stormed out on them the evening before. It felt like centuries ago.

“Is Avon… all right?”

No reason to dance around the subject. “No. He’s much worse. Wants to get checked out on the _Liberator_.”

Blake was immediately all business. “Of course. Can we get up to the ship from here?”

“Yeh, I can work Avon’s teleport no problem.” Vila stepped into the hallway, and paused. “Can we trust you, Blake?”

Evidently noticing that Vila was serious – deadly so – Blake just nodded without a shred of hesitation. “Yes. Of course.”

Vila returned the nod, and unlocked the teleport room. He tossed Blake one of their own bracelets – no need to reveal the injected backup, not even now – and recalled the last coordinates set into the console, before he stepped with Blake into the recess, and clapped his hands.

They materialised on the _Liberator_ ’s flight deck.

Vila immediately spotted the deflector shield Avon had installed – it wasn’t pretty, but evidently functioning, the basic control light Avon had a habit of building into all of his gadgets since he started being around Vila was gleaming steadily.

“What’s that?”

“Just a shield, keeping _Liberator_ off the radar of anyone curious enough to be tempted to investigate.”

“I see.” Blake didn’t look too pleased, but didn’t offer any protest. “We should fetch a gurney from the medical unit before getting Avon. Someone needs to man the teleport.”

“That’ll be you. You can’t get into Avon’s room. Let’s go, then!” Vila set off ahead of Blake, only noticing the strange feeling of taking charge on board the _Liberator_ when they were already well on their way to the medical unit. In the back of his mind, Vila wondered whether it would last, with Blake around, Blake, who so easily ordered people around, whereas Vila had always disliked it. However, at the moment there were more pressing concerns.

Vila didn’t actually think there was something extraordinary wrong with Avon – the knee had been bad before – but a flare-up as strong as the one earlier needed to be checked out. Even with no medical professional around, Vila could at least be certain that the _Liberator_ ’s medical computer would spot anything immediately _bad_ and give them a good chance of fixing it. After all, even without Orac, it had saved each of their lives plenty of times, and none of them had had any medical experience beyond rudimentary first aid.

When Blake put Vila back down in Avon’s suite, Vila took a few moments to contact his staff and inform them that he would be taking care of the aftermath of the code 7 situation for the next day or two and was not to be contacted under any circumstances. It was a bit of a lie, but Vila would be aboard the _Liberator_ , which, as far as he was concerned, counted as taking care of the situation. After all, the ship had been what had caused it in the first place. A day or two wouldn’t matter – certainly not during Freedom Week. Everyone would be in holiday mood anyway, and Vila had taken off longer than that before. The longer he could spend on dealing with this, the sooner everything would return back to normal – at least as far as the cabinet was concerned.

Avon was still deeply asleep, looking utterly vulnerable sprawled on the sheets. Knowing there was no chance of waking him, Vila just clipped the teleport bracelet around his wrist, collected the walking stick, and called for Blake to bring them straight up.

Getting Avon set up in the medical unit felt familiar, even as Vila had to swallow remembered anxieties about all the times they had had to patch Avon up before they’d lost the _Liberator_ for good. Blake was helping quietly, shifting medical sensors with practiced ease, and clearly as lost in memories as Vila was.

“Last time I saw Avon in here was when we were holding the wake for Vila,” Blake said suddenly, out of the blue, and Vila froze in his search for a suitable pillow to elevate Avon’s leg.

Blake caught his stare and seemed to start out of his thoughts. “Sorry. I hadn’t realised I said that out loud.”

“Find me a pillow or two and get changed, Blake? There’s nothing else you can do here until the machines have done their work and Avon wakes up.”

Blake nodded and headed out, dropping by shortly afterwards to leave two large pillows, before walking off again to his cabin and then the flight deck. He hadn’t asked any questions, just requested that Vila keep him updated. Vila was grateful for it – it allowed him to pretend that this situation was normal, that this wasn’t the medical unit of an alternate _Liberator_ , that Avon was just ill because his pain levels fluctuated, not because of the stress of Blake being there – stress that sapped Vila’s energy, too.

Vila elevated Avon’s leg, trying not to jostle it or the medical equipment too badly, and then sifted through the medical supplies that were left, picking out the sedatives Avon would take as opposed to the ones that had unpleasant side effects. According to Avon, anyway. Vila couldn’t claim he’d ever noticed anything peculiar.

He knew that, in one of these cupboards, he was likely to find the ingredients for adrenaline and soma, but when he came across them he found he wasn’t tempted, not even a sip to calm his nerves. Vila put the bottle back into the compartment, and closed the door with a soft click that, somehow, sounded wistful.

There was a movement in the corner of his eye – Avon’s hand. Avon was starting to come round, his sleep becoming lighter. Vila gave the hand a reassuring pat, then checked on the equipment. The machines were still busy with their analysis, and would be for a while yet. Vila selected a capsule with a mild sedative from the things he’d set aside and placed it on Avon’s arm, sending him back under for another hour or two. There was no need for Avon to lie awake – and in pain – as long as there were no results to report, and if Avon ever found out, he'd probably agree, too. He didn't appreciate being medicated in general, but he hated forced inaction even more.

Vila watched over Avon until he quieted down again, then carefully tiptoed out of the medical unit to go for a wander, leaving the computers to watch over Avon. Vila hadn’t seen much of this _Liberator_ on his first visit, and had a vague idea of looking in on his old cabin – provided that it hadn’t been taken over by anyone else, not that it mattered. Before Control, Vila really hadn’t had a lot of possessions of his own on the _Liberator_ , and he was hardly interested in his old wardrobe. He did have a faint notion of seeing whether there were any cosmetics left – he could do with a shower and a shave, anyway. And perhaps a bit of breakfast? It wasn’t going to live up to Avon’s first rate synthesiser, but perhaps it would settle his queasy stomach.

Only when Vila turned into the corridor of the living quarters, his arm was suddenly ceased.

He was shoved face-first into the wall roughly, an iron grip around his wrist hiked it up the small of his back. There was the whisper of a muzzle of a gun in his hair. His wrist with the panic button trapped, Vila only gave a token struggle.

“Who the _hell_ are you?” his captor hissed.

Vila froze. He must have misheard.

His wrist was pushed still a little higher. “Well?!”

“Avon?!”

Abruptly, his wrist was free. “ _Vila_?”

Vila turned carefully in the space between the wall and his attacker, keeping his hands up non-threateningly, and found himself looking into the startled eyes of Kerr Avon. If Vila hadn’t just walked out on a sleeping and definitely-unable-to-stand-and-walk Avon of his own, he’d have given Avon a mouthful for going crazy. As it was, his gaze darted to the grey-less hair, the bare beginnings of the lines of pain and fainter lines of laughter he was used to from his Avon, and swallowed. “Hello, Avon.”

Avon’s gun, which had been poking his neck a moment earlier, wavered entirely off target, and he took a step back, his gaze taking in the differences in Vila, much as Vila had just noticed the differences in him. _This_ Avon was wearing _Liberator_ clothing, items he had favoured in those first months after they’d lost Blake, and held his left shoulder stiffly, but the only expression in his face at the moment was astonishment. “What is going _on_?” he rasped.

“Where did you come from?” Vila threw back at him. “There was no one on board when we made contact with the _Liberator_ – except Blake, that is.”

“Ah, so Blake _is_ here. I had wondered.” Avon put away the gun. “There were no life signs when I came on board.”

“Well, you’re not supposed to be here.”

Avon looked mildly surprised, but it was the kind of surprise that meant he hadn’t expected Vila to know something. “Yes, I discovered as much. _You_ know about multiverse theory?”

“Only because _you_ can’t seem to stop going on about it.” Avon arched an eyebrow, but Vila forged on regardless: “Not what I was talking about, though. Blake said you were dead.”

Avon’s mouth twitched into a faint smile and he turned away slightly. “Yes, I was afraid of that. I wish he’d have waited a moment or two before pulling both of our ships into a different universe. The _Liberator_ isn’t an easy ship to follow if all you have is a small Wanderer class vessel. Blake, at least, is predictable.” Avon paused, looking him over again. “You can lower your arms, Vila.”

“Oh. Right.” Vila dropped his arms, stepping away from the wall now that Avon was giving him space.

Unexpectedly, Avon gave a small laugh, sobering quickly. “It’s good to see you, Vila.”

“Yes, wish I could say the same. And I thought I was going to get some rest.” Vila was taken aback how easy it was to fall into the _Liberator_ pattern with _this_ Avon, how quickly he could slip back into the role of harmless fool, with nothing of the seriousness and command of the Chancellor he never seemed to be able to quite get rid of, not even when the only person around was _his_ Avon. “Look, we should let Blake know you’re here, or he’ll get a heart attack when he runs into you. He’s on the flight deck – I’ll go first, shall I? How did you get past the detector shield, anyway?”

 

To Vila’s immense astonishment, the reintroduction of this Avon with his Blake was fairly smooth and effortless – “You shouldn’t believe everything Federation propaganda tells you, Blake.” – and the two were soon seated on the flight deck sofa, swapping stories that went over Vila’s head for the most part. This Avon, it turned out, had docked his vessel during the night, at some point before Vila’s Avon had installed the detector shield, and had been on board since. There was very little else he seemed to be willing to tell them, and Blake was doing most of the talking. It was only when the conversation came around to the death of the remainder of the crew that Vila realised where the ease between them came from – _this_ Avon had never shot and killed Blake, had never even attempted to. They might not have parted on the best of terms, but _Gauda Prime_ wasn’t hanging over them. It was then that he glanced at the ship’s clock for the first time, and hurriedly swung his feet down from the console.

“Avon!”

Both Blake and Avon looked up.

“What is it?” Avon asked, unusually mildly.

“Not you. The _other_ you.”

“He’s on board?” Avon asked. Blake just nodded.

“The sedative I gave him should be wearing off by now. I need to go check on him.”

Avon stood with an ease that gave Vila a moment’s pause. “I’ll come with you.”

“Are you sure?” Blake queried, sounding doubtful.

“I’m sure. Medical unit?”

“Yeah.”

This time, Vila fell in step beside Avon, feeling immediately guilty about how easy it felt, how they could set a speed that was only possible for _his_ Avon on the truly good days, when they strolled around the gardens together.

“It might be a bit of a shock.”

The Avon beside him smiled. “For him or me?”

“Both, I think. I was talking about you.”

A shadow passed suddenly over Avon’s face, but it was gone as soon as it had come. “Why do you say that?”

“You could say the years haven’t been kind.”

“I didn’t imagine they were, considering that they ended with me back in the _Liberator_ ’s medical unit as soon as I had the chance.”

Vila froze at the flippant tone and spun Avon around by the shoulders, pushing him into the wall. Avon gave a pained hiss when Vila dug his fingers into his left shoulder and he eased his grip a little, but didn’t let go. “You have _no idea_. Blake and you had a stroll of a life compared what happened to us. Don’t you _dare_ think you had it worse than him. Don’t you _dare_ make fun of him, or me, for not living up to your expectations of being able to brush things off.”

Vila stared into Avon’s eyes, and to his surprise found shock spread thinly over dark shadows, deeply covered pain and _understanding_.

“I won’t,” Avon said softly. “Vila, let go. I promise I won’t.”

“All right.” Vila stepped back, and winced when Avon moved to rub his shoulder. “Sorry ‘bout that.”

“It’s fine. You made your point.”

They started down the corridor again in silence, which Vila only broke when the door to the medical unit came into sight. “Should I tell you–”

“No. Not if he won’t.”

 “All right.”

Vila was the first inside the unit, and noticed with relief that Avon was still asleep. The indicators on the medical computer showed more activity now than when Avon had been under heavy sedation, but his sleep was still deep enough that he didn’t even twitch when Vila took the medi-disk from his arm and disposed of it.

The other Avon, who had soundlessly stepped into the room behind him, raised an eyebrow in light reproach, but remained silent and out of the way, standing with his arms folded where he could clearly observe his counterpart.

The medical computers were still working on the results – Vila had set them to do a full check-up, though it felt odd doing it without Orac to speed things up. The computers estimated about another hour until they were done.

“How much longer?” _other_ Avon (this was getting confusing quickly) asked, keeping his voice low.

“An hour.”

“I want to talk to him when he wakes up. Alone.”

Vila had been nodding, but now snapped his head around to him sharply. “And scare him to death?”

Avon snorted. “Hardly. Do you imagine you’d explain better than I could?”

“Probably not.”

“There are a few things we need to talk about, Vila. In private.”

“All right. But I’ll be right outside. And only if those things don’t involve killing him to take his place.”

“No. I’m… not the suicidal type,” Avon said with a twitch of his lips.

Vila nodded, and glanced back at the sleeping figure on the bed. Other-Avon had meant it in jest, but Vila couldn’t quite see the humour. His eyes scanned the lines engraved in his Avon’s face, even in sleep. “Yes,” Vila said, “I know.”

 

Avon woke slowly, emerging gradually from a deepness of sleep that indicated the use of drugs of some kind. _Pain medication_ , his mind reminded him weakly, and Avon pushed the thought aside. The pain would be back soon enough.

He was leaning back against some pillows, half-seated and feeling slightly chilled despite the light weight of the blanket lying across him. The air smelled… different, but familiar. So familiar it hurt. _Liberator_ , then. Well. At least Vila had done what he’d asked him to, and it hadn’t led to a disaster when Vila had, undoubtedly, involved Blake. The engines were quiet – still in orbit, then.

His knee, when Avon finally couldn’t think of anything else to focus on, was strangely quiescent. He didn’t feel much like attempting movement, but there was a cool painlessness – a cooling brace? Healing pad? Localised painkiller?

“It’s just a cooling gel,” a voice said softly, and Avon flicked his eyes open, startled.

He was looking up into his own face – except… not.

“Apologies,” the _other_ Avon said. “I’m afraid I’m not up to date with the protocols of introducing oneself to… oneself.”

Avon cleared his throat, and found a glass of water held out in his direction with a wry smile he’d seen in the mirror hundreds of times. He accepted it wordlessly, drinking in small swallows. “Thanks. What happened to Vila?”

“Nothing. He’s just outside, pacing in the corridor, no doubt, making sure I don’t do anything but talk. You must have expected this, of course.” The other Avon gestured at himself.

“I’d considered the possibilities. Only Blake said–”

“Blake thought I was dead, I know. I would have been around sooner, only the _Liberator_ is a very fast ship. If I hadn’t lost it immediately after being pulled along in the shockwave, I would still be trying to trace Blake’s path around the Outer Planets now. The Wanderer class isn’t very fast, not even the… remake.”

“But Blake would go to Earth eventually and so you set a direct course.”

“Yes.” Other-Avon smirked and pulled up a chair, settling down. “There are a few things we probably should discuss.”

“Did Vila update you on the politics?”

“Blake did, with a few additions.” His voice took a faintly quizzical note. “I never thought of myself as a politician.”

Avon forced himself not to fidget uncomfortably. Right now, his knee was fine, but who knew what movement would do. “We’re not.”

“Ah. That explains a few things.”

“Blake assumed you’d died under Federation torture.”

“Hm.” Other-Avon rubbed his left shoulder. “I didn’t exactly get out unscathed.”

“Shrinker?”

Other-Avon stilled, something like surprise in his voice. “Yes.”

“Did you kill–”

“– _her_? Yes.”

Avon closed his eyes for a moment and nodded. That was really all that needed to be said on the subject.

“You knew, then,” other-him stated flatly.

“Oh yes. I knew. I killed her, too.”

“Then I’m sorry.”

Avon opened his eyes again, chasing away Anna’s ghost. “So was I.”

“I was afraid I might have to tell you. After what Vila said…”

“What did he say?”

Other-Avon leant forward, resting his elbows on his knees – something Avon hadn’t done in years for the fear of upsetting some nerve or other even more. “It came down to that you’d both been through hell and not to make it worse.”

“Accurate enough.”

Other-Avon smiled. “It is good to see Vila again.”

 _You’re welcome to him_ , Avon thought suddenly, and immediately swallowed the remark down before he could voice it. He didn’t want to leave _Vila_ , far from it – he was just so tired of the endless petty politics that seemed to drain him more every day. Before late, he was sure, they’d either kill him or leave him with nothing else but the pain and more of the same. There must be some drug still in his system, making his thought process sluggish and maudlin.

“All right?” Other-Avon asked.

Avon dismissed him with a glance. “As fine as can be expected these days.”

“What happened to the knee?”

“A souvenir from Federation torturers.”

“Ah. I shouldn’t have asked.”

“This isn’t the worst of it.”

“I didn’t think it was – not just from Vila’s remark. Blake was…” Other-Avon trailed off, shaking his head.

“Let me put it to you this way. What would you have done, if you’d have found Blake before… all this… and were given indication that he had betrayed you to the Federation?”

Other-Avon looked up, and Avon could see the horror in his eyes. There was no need, then, to elaborate on the red flashing alarm before his own mind’s eye. For a while they were both silent.

“Everyone else died there, too?” Other-Avon asked finally.

“Not the crew you knew, but yes, everyone but me and Vila is dead. And the fact that Vila is still alive is no thanks to me.”

Avon was almost surprised when all his counterpart asked was: “Why?” No expression of doubt that he could have done it, could have tried, even with Vila, whom this Avon had actually watched die – but then Avon remembered how terrified he’d been of having to do precisely that to anyone else ever since he’d managed to shot Anna, and that _that_ Avon had done that, too.

“Survival,” Avon answered simply and added, almost as an afterthought, “Vila is too forgiving for his own good.”

“Yes, I thought he was.” That wry smile again. “And quite protective.”

The medical computer chose that moment to signal the end of the examination with a shrill beeping which brought in the very Vila they had been talking about.

He made straight for Avon’s side, switching off the alarm. “Avon, how do you feel?”

“I’ve been worse. It doesn’t hurt much at the moment.”

“That’ll be the cooling gel. It has pain-numbing components. And the fact that you’ve been off your feet with the leg properly elevated for some hours.”

“Have you become a medical professional as well as Chancellor of the Known Worlds, Vila?” Other-Avon asked from the side-lines.

“No. Just know how to read my Avons.” Vila grinned briefly, and Avon found that it was a grin he couldn’t remember seeing since they’d lost the _Liberator_. Unease settled in his stomach.

“We need to find a way to tell you two apart, though. Avon and Avon is going to get confusing quickly. We could call one of you Kerr.”

“Don’t,” Avon said, knowing full well that Vila was only teasing – he knew why the first name was off-limits – and found himself echoed by his counterpart.

“Any suggestions, then?”

Avon glanced over to his counterpart, who shrugged. “I’ve used Chevron as an alias before, but I was thinking...”

“River,” Avon said, and his counterpart nodded.

Vila was glancing between them, understanding faint in his eyes. There was, after all, a reason for the code word system Avon had set up with him. “All right, River it is, at least so long as you are in the same room. The results are in now, Avon.”

Avon swallowed a sigh. “Let me see, then.”

Vila transferred the data to a reader and passed it to him. “Nothing wrong but the knee, it seems. But that is…”

“Bad. But we knew that before now.” Avon studied the readout. He was as familiar with his medical file as Vila, of course, and wasn’t surprised to see the usual signs of too little sleep and too much stress – PTSD tended to do that. Vila’s records still showed the effects as well, even if Vila knew how to hide them away. Avon had missed a few meals, but again that was negligible. He’d eat when he was convinced he might keep it down. His back, for once, was fine, but that was also because he hadn’t done much work lately, nor too much walking around. The knee was… bad. It was an unfortunate side effect of suffering from chronic pain that, sooner or later, you became very aware of every element of the anatomy of the affected joint, and of what was and wasn’t working. Avon had been lucky enough not to tear his meniscus when he fell – that morning? He couldn’t be sure; after all, he might have slept through a night. That, however, was about the only thing that was fine. Avon knew very well that the tendons around the knee would _never_ heal properly, that the best he could do for them was to remain as mobile as he could, avoiding fresh tears and still allowing for enough exercise to prevent them from shortening and stiffening. The _Liberator_ ’s medical computer wasn’t happy about the damage, but Avon couldn’t bring himself to ask for treatment options. New was the inflamed bursa – it explained why the pain had been getting worse in the last days, and also why the cooling gel helped more than it should have. Avon might have noticed the inflammation sooner if he’d dared touch the knee to investigate, but that would have made the ordinary pain worse. Besides, he’d been distracted.

“Not all psychological, then,” he noted wryly, passing the reader back to Vila.

“No. Guess this means you shouldn’t be doing any walking.”

Not walking meant not moving the tendons, not moving the tendons meant more pain. Avon leant back, staring at the ceiling for a moment, resigned. “Less of it, anyway. Perhaps some light exercises – I’ve been neglecting them lately.”

“Avon–” There was reprimand in Vila’s voice.

“It was _fine_ , until all this.” Avon waved a hand at the room at large. “I’m not a fool, Vila; there’s no need to play nurse.”

Out of the corner of his eye, Avon caught a flicker of hurt on Vila’s face, but it was gone when he turned his head to face him. Instead, Vila’s face was carefully blank, lacking any of the animation Avon was used to from his thief. This was the expression Chancellor Restal wore, and something, somewhere inside of Avon seemed to freeze into brittle ice.

“You aren’t going to ask, are you?” Vila asked, his voice like a dark void.

“Ask what?”

“Treatment options, Zen.” Vila instructed quietly, and turned to the computer terminal where the results would appear – naturally tilted in a way that the “patient” couldn’t see it. Avon heartily despised the setup, but when the result came in, he could read it off Vila’s face just as well. The thief’s expression seemed to stutter and fail, facial muscles that were so frequently in motion freezing to stillness, the liveliness vanishing from behind his eyes. There was _nothing_ to be done.

“Vila…”

The name had sat on his own tongue, unspoken, but it had been River who’d voiced it, standing by Avon’s side. Vila looked up only for a fraction of a second. “‘s all right, I don’t need an ‘I told you so’. _I’m_ just a hopeless fool who thought that if something could be done, you might not want to leave.” Vila pushed a few buttons rather harshly, powering down the console. Each press of his fingers felt like a punch to Avon.

“I’ll be on the flight deck,” Vila said and walked out, looking much smaller than Avon was used to seeing him now, curled in around his shoulders.

The frozen thing somewhere inside of him seemed to shatter when the door closed behind Vila, leaving tiny, poisonous shards.

Avon cast about for his walking stick, knowing very well that he had no hope of even reaching the door, let alone catch up with Vila. The stick was there, all the way across the room, leaning inconspicuously against a cabinet. Avon heaved a sigh into the still, slightly too cool air, and stared up at the ceiling. He felt alone. His eyes were stinging.

“When did Vila become cruel?” a soft voice suddenly asked to his right, and Avon almost started off the bed before he remembered his counterpart. It shouldn’t have been that easy to forget his presence, but then Avon had had _hallucinations_ that had been more intrusive. He could have asked River to fetch the stick, but by now Vila was long gone.

“Do you expect me to answer that?”

River shook his head, still looking at the door. Avon wondered at the expression on his face, wondered what his own showed. “No.”

“Was there anything else?”

“No.” River visibly tore himself from the contemplation of the closed door. “I suppose ‘try to sleep’ is a futile suggestion.”

“Just get out.”

 

Vila only looked in on the flight deck long enough to ask Blake which cabin had been his counterpart’s, and whether he could use it. To no great surprise, his counterpart had picked the same cabin as he had, and it had remained untouched since he had died. Vila lingered at the door for a moment, contemplating the one next to it. It looked like all other doors in the corridor, of course, no different from Vila’s own, but back on their _Liberator_ , this one had been Avon’s. He wondered whether other-Avon – River – had emptied it when he’d left the _Liberator_ , whether it showed any trace of his state of mind after other-Vila’s death. Wondered whether it would be anything like Avon’s after Anna, after Cally. Not that they’d still had the _Liberator_ after Cally’s death, but even though all the possessions were Dorian’s, Vila had still been able to feel the grief when he stepped into Avon’s room. Vila wondered if there would be anything like that when _he_ died. Not that he wanted or planned to. He’d always wanted to live forever, but forever had begun to seem like such a long time lately. He had already lived longer than he’d expected, with his lifestyle. He was often tired.

Being around Avon used to make him feel alive.

Vila opened the door to his room. It looked and smelled familiar. There were clothes lying across a chair that Vila remembered ruining at some point before Star One, and he ran his fingers over the fabric, trying to recall what had happened to them in this universe. Not that it mattered – they probably wouldn’t fit him now. He’d lost a bit of muscle, gained a bit of weight about the waist. He still liked to stay fairly light and nimble – couldn’t lose that if he ever wanted to do a bit of thieving again – and he had a fast metabolism, but he’d also never had such a reliable and steady source of food before now, especially not the large selection of fresh-tasting vegetarian meals.

Vila stepped through into the small bathroom, and found shampoo and shower gel still sitting on the shelf. It felt odd, using the belongings of a man who was dead and yet had been _him_ , but Vila stripped down nonetheless and stepped under the shower.

He was done and flicking through the modest collection of music he half-remembered just for something to take his mind off things when there was a knock at his door.

“Go away!” he called out automatically.

“Vila.” Avon’s voice – most likely it was River, though. If _his_ Avon had walked all the way from the medical unit, he wouldn’t sound nearly so calm. Besides, Vila wouldn’t have expected _him_ in his wildest dreams.

“I don’t want to talk to you,” he told him, calling across the room.

“Vila, I’m not… him.”

Vila walked up to the door despite himself, leaning against the wall next to it. “Yes, you are. You shot Anna, didn’t you? It was all downhill from there.”

There was a drawn-out silence, and Vila almost thought other-Avon had left.

“Let me in. We should talk.”

Of course he hadn’t. Too much to hope for, anyway.

Vila punched the door control viciously. “I don’t want to talk.”

“Not to him, maybe. But perhaps you will talk to me. Please, Vila.”

Vila stepped aside to let him in despite himself, but remained standing facing the closed door, after Avon – River – stepped inside. Vila could feel him somewhere behind him. Vila turned to him and was struck again by how _young_ he looked. Despite it, it felt impossible to think of him as anything other than Avon when the other wasn’t there. He was Avon – just… different.  “What do you want?”

Avon looked about the room, his posture speaking of sudden discomfort. He masked it well, making it seem like trailing his fingers over the surface of the work desk was a casual gesture, not a grasp for something stable. But Vila knew him too well. “Forgive me. I haven’t been in this room since Vila…” Avon trailed off, and Vila saw him swallow hard.

“Must have been a relief, to be finally rid of me. You can’t seem to stop trying.”

Avon’s head snapped up, anger flaring in his eyes. “I never wanted to be rid of you!”

“Well, perhaps not yet. Didn’t he tell you? He tried to kill me once. Has been pushing me away ever since.”

Avon spread his hands helplessly. “Vila…”

“No, I’m just taking it out on you. Not like you aren’t too easy to tell apart.” Vila walked to the cupboard he knew contained a flask of soma and glasses. It was all still there. “Drink? It might be a bit stale.”

Avon accepted the glass in silence, settling down on an empty chair when Vila went to sprawl on the bed. Vila took a large swallow of the drink. He hadn’t been tempted in a long while, but here, now, the soma was a familiar balm to the crushing loneliness.

“I don’t understand,” Avon said, looking into the depth of his own glass as if it would give him the answers.

“What?”

“You don’t want him to leave. He doesn’t want to leave you.”

“Are you sure about that?”

“ _Yes_ ,” Avon affirmed forcefully.

“Well, he’s giving a good impression, then. Perhaps you aren’t him, after all. Some things must be different, right?”

“Vila, whatever he’s running away from, it isn’t _you_.”

“Did he send you?”

“No. Of course not.”

“Well, then this is pointless, isn’t it? You might be able to make educated guesses, but you have no idea what’s on _his_ mind.”

“Educated guesses!” Avon’s voice sounded brittle, somewhere close to a broken laugh.

“Just let it go, Avon, eh? You have enough messes of your own to fix without taking on his.”

Something dark and haunted passed over Avon’s face, and Vila wondered whether it was just Anna, the damage to his shoulder that he was hiding so well, or something more. It wasn’t any of his business, of course. This wasn’t _his_ Avon, and his Avon wasn’t going to be _his_ for much longer.

“Go talk to Blake,” Vila told him. “I know you want to. Go figure out what you want to do next, and leave me alone for a bit.”

Avon set down the glass on the table, undrunk. “I… missed you, Vila. You wouldn’t understand how much.”

Vila snorted. “Of course I wouldn’t. Just a Delta fool, me, eh?”

Avon ignored the outburst. “I could have used you on Fosforon.” He sounded bitter. “I nearly died in that hellhole of a base.”

Fosforon? Vila cast his mind back. “Tynus!” That’d been when he’d truly begun to think that he and Avon might make a good team.

“Ah, so you met him.”

“Yes, Avon took me down... Hang on, _I_ found that message to Federation HQ. How _did_ you get out?”

Avon almost smiled. “It’s a long story.”

“I like stories.”

Now it really was a smile. “Yes, I remember. In short, sheer luck, I suppose. Tynus was always a bad shot. Cally pulled me out before he could try again. The plague will have killed him, in the end.” Avon picked up the glass again and took a swallow, after all.

Despite himself, Vila was suddenly curious. He _did_ like stories – he just didn’t much like being in them, generally speaking. Being a hero wasn’t all it was made out to be. It hurt a lot more, for one thing. “How long did you stay with Blake, after?”

“That fiasco on Exbar was almost the last straw. Travis was a very observant host. Couldn’t wait to… attend to my barely healed shoulder. I should have shot him.”

“You can say that again,” Vila mumbled. This Avon had probably no idea that Travis had let the aliens in, if they’d never been at Star One. No use in telling him, now.

“And then there was Albian. I left with Grant, after it was over.”

“Did you disarm the bomb?”

Avon laughed dryly. “No. There wasn’t time, after I’d finally got that thrice-damned safe open. Blake pulled us both out. Didn’t get the information we came for, either. Another triumph for Blake’s glorious Cause!” He lifted the glass at Vila in a mock toast and took another swallow.

“Oh.” A whole planet dead because Vila hadn’t been there to open the safe while Avon worried about the bomb.  

“I take it you were more successful.”

“Yeah. It was close, but we made it. Grant’s still alive, you know.”

Avon’s brows rose. “Is he now?”

“Yeah. He’s travelling the Outer Planets. They like him there, and he’s keeping an eye on things. Doing intelligence work for you – Avon, I mean – on the side, I think, but we don’t talk about that. Now that I think about it, he’s probably the reason we knew of the _Liberator_ before it showed up on our doorstep in the first place.”

“We went after Anna’s killer together.” Avon gave a mirthless chuckle. “It didn’t go well. He’ll probably shoot me if I ever run into him again.”

“That’s what Avon said, too. Grant didn’t. Didn’t even try.” Vila emptied his own glass and let his hand dangle over the edge of the bed. The _Liberator_ ’s bunks weren’t anywhere near as decadent as his own bed or Avon’s, but there was some comfort in the familiarity. “Why’d you go back to Blake, then?”

“The galaxy was in chaos. The Federation cracked down on anything suspicious, blaming the tighter security, the harsher punishments on the threat of the aliens. At least half of it was probably propaganda. I was alone, and the _Liberator_ was the safest place in the galaxy. There was nowhere else to go. I learned that Blake thought I was dead and wanted to prove him wrong. I needed the ship. I missed him. Take your pick.”

Vila scanned Avon’s face, bowed over the glass of soma, one finger idly tracing the rim. _You never used to be this honest with me_ , he thought. He’d spent two long years puzzling over Avon’s reasons to go after Blake – and the confusion hadn’t gone away after Gauda Prime. Only by then he’d realised that Avon didn’t know, either. Of course Avon had stopped holding back so much since Gauda Prime. Vila had already seen him at his absolutely lowest, and Avon had seen Vila at _his_ lowest. And more importantly, Avon had done what, in his mind, amounted to the worst thing anyone could do to another person to Vila, and Vila had still stuck around. Only now _Avon_ didn’t want to stick around anymore, and Vila wondered whether Avon realised that that, for Vila, might be worse than what happened over Malodar.

Vila used to know better than to get this attached, he mused, back when he was still nothing but a petty (but damn good, even if he said so himself) thief in the domes. He was constantly on the move, and anyone to whom he talked to for too long might either turn him in or get in trouble by association. He knew how to make himself likeable, how to ingratiate himself with people, how to _appear_ as though he cared, as though he was a friend, but most of it had been for show, or it would have hurt too much when they vanished, when he had to move on. Avon had been the first person in a long time that Vila had wanted to remember, wanted to meet again. Then, of course, there was the _London_ , and Gan – just a convenient associate at first, a big man, gentle and harmless, really, but fiercely protective; just what Vila needed. A good friend, later. All the crew had been like friends in the end, some closer than others, but Vila had found himself caring for all of them, after so many years of not allowing himself to. It had been a blow when Gan died, but by then it was too late. All of them had been like the family Vila always secretly wanted but never thought he could have, and families weren’t supposed to be perfect, anyway. Avon… Avon had always been different, somehow.

“Vila?”

“Hm?” Vila looked over to find the other Avon contemplating him with a faint smile. Avon had emptied the glass and set it back on the table, and his hands were now loosely clasped between his knees. “Oh. You’re still here.”

“Yes. Vila, I’ve had a long time to think about the things I should have said to you when I had the chance.”

Vila sat up, then, suddenly uneasy with where the conversation was going. “You’ve had too much to drink. You always were a lightweight.”

Avon’s gaze drifted to the empty glass. “Perhaps. Nonetheless.”

“Avon…”

“No, let me say this. Please.”

Vila subsided. “All right.”

For a moment, Avon was silent, not meeting his gaze. Then he inhaled as if to gather strength and looked up. “I know you’re not… him. Perhaps this is just so I can ease my own conscience. If so, I’m sorry. But perhaps you need to hear it, because _he_ isn’t going to mention it, not now.” He paused for a moment, rubbing the inside of his palm with the thumb of the other hand. “Of all the people on the _Liberator_ , you were the only one I would have liked to think of as a friend.” Avon fell abruptly silent, staring at the wall beside Vila’s head.

Vila swallowed hard. “Is that it?” he prompted, so quietly he barely heard his own voice.

“Yes. I don’t know why I… trusted you so quickly, but I did. I suppose I still do.” Avon shrugged lightly. “I wasn’t sure whether you knew when you died.”

Vila thought back, struggling to remember. He’d had an idea back then, perhaps. But it was only after Fosforon, after Freedom City, that he’d truly believed it.

Avon stood, the movement startling Vila both for its nature and its suddenness. Avon hadn’t been _able_ to stand quickly in a long time. “I should go.”

“It’s all right, you know.”

“What is?”

“I think there are worse ways to go. Saved everyone else’s life, didn’t I?”

“Yes.”

“I’ll see you later, then.”

Avon walked to the door, opening with a gentle touch to the control. “Get some rest, Vila.”

Vila nodded, and then stared at the closed door for a long time after he’d gone.

 

Avon lay on the recliner in the medical unit, useless frustration curling his stomach. He had even tried to move, but the slightest twist of his knee had been so jarring that he’d been forced to give up on the idea. Now, he lay back, staring pointlessly at the blank ceiling even though the lights were too bright for comfort, with nothing to do but listen to his own ragged breathing. He’d clenched his hands to frustrated fists, but all he would achieve by hitting something would be hurting himself. He’d tried sleeping, but it wouldn’t come. His eyes burned, but he couldn’t even bring himself to cry. He wished for a distraction, anything to take him out of his own mind for even just a moment, but when it finally came, he almost regretted it. Almost.

“Avon?” It was Blake, looking in through the doorway.

Avon reached up and brushed at his eyes, though there was nothing to wipe away. All liquids in him seemed to have been drawn to the frozen clump, the remainders of which now lay shattered somewhere in his chest. “What do you want.”

Blake stepped inside, closing the door behind him. “Well, I came to apologise, really.”

“Apologise!” Avon said, and then was torn between _What do you have to apologise for?_ and _That’d be a first_. He said nothing. He just folded his arms, trying not to look as though he were… what?

Blake stepped up to the bed holding himself carefully, as if he were approaching a wounded animal. Right in that moment, Avon hated him. He tore his gaze away, back to the ceiling. The light made black dots dance before his eyes.

“It seems as though my – our – arrival has caused some… disruptions.”

Avon snorted. ‘Disruptions’, indeed. “Since when were you concerned with the problems of any individual, Blake? The world is down there, still turning, _in peace_ , I might add. Isn’t that what you always wanted?”

“I always cared, about all of you!”

“Really. Well, enough to try your best to get us all killed before we could die, anyway.”

Blake was getting angry now. “And you? How well did you do? Your entire crew is dead.”

“ _Yes_ , they are dead,” Avon said, laying every ounce of frustration into his voice. “They are dead because I was fool enough to try to find _you_. If you had listened to me when we first took control of the _Liberator_ , we could all be alive and safe now. But _you_ had to drag us into your private little war.”

“But we _won_ , Avon! The Federation is gone!”

“Yes, we ‘won’, no thanks to you. And _this_ is the price we paid, Blake – until you can acknowledge that, get out of my sight.”

Blake didn’t move, but didn’t speak either. Avon closed his eyes, letting the silence become palpable, painful. The Federation torturers had threatened to cut out his tongue, once – he really had no idea what stopped them.

“What do you want, Avon?”

Avon flicked his eyes open again. “What do _I_ want?”

“Surely that isn’t a difficult question to answer.”

“Leave me alone, Blake.”

“ _Not_ until you’ve answered the question.”

“What I’ve always wanted. I’ve had enough. I want it finished. I want it over and done with.” He swallowed the _to be free_ , memories of the days just before Star One flashing before his eyes. He wasn’t sure he knew what it meant to be free anymore, just that he couldn’t remember not feeling trapped.

“It _is_ over, Avon.”

“From your perspective, perhaps.”

“The Federation is gone!”

“I heard you the first time. Tell me, Blake, what was your plan for after you’d ‘won’?” Avon turned his head back to look at him. “What were you going to do, once you had crushed the Federation under your mighty heel? What were you going to do with what was left?”

He was expecting the surprise on Blake’s face, but it stung all the same to see it. “Well, we would have established a government of some sort, of course. I haven’t given it much thought, Avon. Defeating the Federation–”

 “Yes, that was your only goal, wasn’t it?” Avon bared his teeth at him. “You never cared about what might be left behind – whether _anything_ would be left behind. You were happy to murder billions for your Cause, for your grand ideals, but you had no idea, no plan what do with the survivors. There is no victory, Blake. There is no glorious revolution, no grandiose freedom after tyranny. There is only a quagmire of death and trauma and pain, and waking up every day in a world you don’t belong to anymore. It doesn’t just _stop_ , Blake, it never stops. You can’t just wash your hands off what you’ve done. _Destruction_ , Blake, doesn’t achieve anything. There is no clear slate from which a wondrous new world can rise. Every day you try to build something new and with every step pull the familiar ground from under your own feet.” Avon fell silent, having said too much.

What did it matter if Blake understood? He never had, before, and the reality of everyday politics would soon catch up with him. At any rate, from the moment Blake first stepped in front of the cabinet, it would be a couple of weeks of chaos, of politicians getting used to the reality of their saint, of everything settling down again. In the meantime, Avon could quietly slip away, and no one would be the wiser. With the _Liberator_ , he might even be able to reach Grant and speed the whole process up. The presence of his counterpart complicated matters, but perhaps he’d even be willing to take him to the Outer Planets in _Liberator_ and then take care of the ship while Blake and Vila ran politics on Earth. As a matter of fact, Avon didn’t even need to wait for Grant, now – there was a one-pilot wanderer class ship docked somewhere, and it might just be perfectly space-worthy, if only he could get down to it.

Of course, that all rather relied on whether or not Blake and River would be able to stay. So far, there had been no indication of any transdimensional problems, and Avon would have expected them to manifest by now. But he couldn’t be sure until he had run some tests – or River had run some tests, it came down to the same thing. If he was alone on the flight deck now, River might be doing exactly that. Avon certainly would. Only – if River _wasn’t_ alone… Avon shied away from the thought. _No._

“Avon?” Suddenly, there was a hand on his arm, and Avon shook it off wearily.

“Still here, Blake?”

Blake lifted his hands in a gesture of innocence. “You sounded as though you were in pain.”

 _Did I?_ Avon hadn’t been aware of having made a sound. “I’m always in pain. That’s what _chronic_ means.”

“Do you need anything?”

“No. Just leave me alone.”

“Very well.” Blake moved to the door, pausing in the threshold. “Avon?”

“What is it still?”

“I _am_ sorry.”

“I’m sure you believe that.”

Blake just shook his head and left, leaving Avon to his silence and loneliness and pain. He braved the latter and resettled on his side, curling up as best he could, and hoped for sleep to escape the former.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a quick note that while I very much hope it won't make a difference for my update schedule, my RL is about to get _a lot_ more chaotic, so if updates going forward happen on weird days and/or are late, I apologise in advance (though chapters are also getting longer so you should have plenty of reading between updates ;)). But if this reassures you, this fic is finished and done, so it won't get abandoned as a WIP.


	7. Chapter 7

Vila awoke to the feeling of _falling_ , a sickening jolt in his stomach. He was barely fully conscious when it was followed by the _Liberator_ shuddering mightily, and the proximity alarm blaring loudly through the ship.

The shipwide communication circuit crackled to life: “Blake, get up here, _now_!” Avon’s voice, of course, and Vila was quite sure it was River.

It hadn’t been _Vila_ River had asked for, but he stumbled to his feet and out of his cabin anyway, steadying himself on the wall when the _Liberator_ bucked under another onslaught – an attack. Vila broke into a jog towards the flight deck, then, half-way, changed his mind and raced down to the medical unit instead.

Avon was sitting on the edge of the medical recliner when Vila burst in. His face was ashen, but he was wide-awake. “What the hell is going on?!”

“No idea.” Vila snatched up the walking stick and brought it over. “Can you walk?”

Avon took the stick from him, and Vila pretended not to notice the flicker of hesitation that gave way to steely-eyed determination. “Yes.” He lowered himself carefully to the floor. “Let’s go.”

Avon _could_ walk, as it turned out, though Vila caught his arm when another bolt hit the ship and sent them both staggering into the wall, preventing anything worse than a pained hiss. Avon just nodded his thanks and gritted his teeth, and a few minutes later they were at the entrance of the flight deck, just as Vila felt the engines surge underneath them.

It was River in the pilot’s station, Blake manning Vila’s weapons console.

“What is going on?” Avon asked, making his way down the steps with Vila’s help – not that Vila registered that he had offered until they were already standing on even ground again. Vila let Avon’s elbow go with a sigh none of the others noticed, and slid quietly into his station when Blake made way to step up to River. Vila tried not to notice that Avon held onto Vila’s chair for stability even as the ship settled into smooth flight.

“Best guess, we are back in our universe,” River said.

Vila’s stomach turned. They had been in orbit around _Earth_. “Pursuit ships?!”

“The orbital defences cut in. No ships yet.”

“Maybe we made a clean getaway,” Vila suggested with more hope than he really held.

“Zen, increase speed,” Blake ordered suddenly.

Zen’s confirmation was cut off by a dual “Countermand!” from both Avons, making both Blake and Vila jump.

“We have a ship in dock, Blake!” Avon went on, and River added: “Do you want to get us all killed? Anything above standard by six will tear the ship to pieces! _Both_ ships!”

“We _have_ to get out of Earth Sector!”

 “If they had realised what ship it was that suddenly appeared in orbit out of nowhere they’d have sent up pursuit ships already,” River said, and finally surrendered the pilot’s position to Blake, stepping down to the computer control. “That detector shield–”

“Visual only,” Avon said, and Vila glanced at him in surprise. Avon’s shields had always been his cleverest gadgets – there was a reason _their_ Earth had a planet-wide protective screen – but Avon had installed this one inside of a few hours, and it was better than anything they’d had on their _Liberator_ , even though he had worked on some of those for weeks on end?

If Avon noticed Vila’s glance, he ignored it. “When it comes to search sweeps, anyway. It will keep us off all sensors, as long as we don’t breach any more sensory grids or literally run into any ships – or make a spectacle of ourselves by _blowing up_ ”, he added, looking pointedly at Blake, “no one should know we’re there. As long as they don’t look out the window, that is.”

Blake smiled mildly. “All right. Any suggestions where we should go, and what the hell happened?”

Vila automatically, habitually, glanced across the flight deck. He caught River’s gaze – and felt his chair jolt as Avon pushed himself away and moved to the front of the flight deck, sitting down on the sofa.

“Somewhere safe, I should think,” Avon said.

Vila, feeling strangely off balance, found himself agreeing. “Oh yes. Good idea.”

“Well? You know this universe better than either of us.”

River glanced at Blake, clearly awaiting a decision.

“The Outer Planets. There’s a greater chance of running into aliens, but less Federation. Zen, maintain speed and set course.”

Zen’s fascia flashed. “Confirmed.”

There was the familiar sensation of _Liberator_ changing course, so familiar that Vila found it almost comforting before the implications of their situation began to catch up with him. “Avon! We’re in the wrong universe!”

Avon glanced back at him. “So it would seem.”

“We _can’t_ be! I need to be back by tonight!” He had, more through the solemn promise that it would be a one-time occurrence for an emergency than any real negotiation, gained two days – but the cabinet was expecting him back by the morning. Avon might be able to take leave without more than raising a few eyebrows, but there were already a million things Vila had dropped to attend to Code 7 when it was first called. If he wasn’t present in cabinet in the morning, and if it then turned out that it was impossible to contact him – _or_ Avon…

“Yes”, Avon said slowly, “I was afraid this might happen…”

“You knew this was a possibility?!”

“Vila,” River said, drawing Vila’s gaze. “Up until now, the multiverse was a theoretical concept. We don’t even know how we ended up in your universe in the first place, let alone what caused us to come back.”

“Well, I would like some answers now,” Blake said, leaning back in the chair at the central station and folding his arms. “You always used to remind me how clever you were, Avon. Surely you can come up with something between the two of you.”

River shook his head. “Educated guesses, perhaps, Blake, but–”

“Then guess!” Blake barked.

Avon jerked at the raised voice, but River just kept staring at Blake. Neither said a word.

Blake slid off the station and stalked to the flight deck exit. “I want options, Avon, _sooner_ rather than later. Until then, I’ll be in my cabin.”

The flight deck was utterly silent in the wake of Blake’s exit. Vila was scrambling to get his mind in order, the surge of adrenalin of _They’re shooting at us!_ no longer as familiar as it used to be, the shock of being farther away from home than he had ever been sitting like a lump in his throat. The two Avons were avoiding eye contact, with each other as much as with him.

Vila stepped away from his station. “I’ll go talk to Blake. You’ll figure something out, Avon,” he said, meaning both of them.

 

Vila ran Blake down in the kitchen after not finding him in his cabin. When Vila stepped into the room, Blake looked up, face stormy, but it smoothed over when he realised it was Vila. It didn’t bode well for Avon, but Vila swallowed his apprehension and set about making himself a cup of tea. He never used to like tea in the _Liberator_ days, but white tea with sugar and cream couldn’t be that bad, even if it came from the _Liberator_ ’s synthesisers.

“What is it, Vila?” Blake asked wearily, cradling his own cup. Probably coffee.

“You shouldn’t be too harsh on Avon, you know. He isn’t half as strong as he pretends to be.”

“Which Avon are we talking about?”

“Both of them. Yours might not show it as much, but if you keep yelling at him you’ll drive him away again.” Vila stirred his tea. “Come to think of it, mine is probably more likely to stick around. Yours already left once, mine could never let you go. He’ll take anything you throw at him, but it won’t help.”

“Sometimes I think he really does hate me,” Blake said bitterly. “Why are you so protective of him, Vila?”

“I’ve known him for a long time.” It wasn’t much of a reason, but when Vila turned to face Blake, he found him nodding. “Are _you_ all right, Blake?”

Blake gave a weak chuckle. “Not particularly.”

“You’re back home.”

“Yes. But I thought it was _over_ , Vila. I thought… the Federation was gone and I could finally stop. I thought all the people who died had finally meant something.”

“Death doesn’t mean anything.”

“Now you sound like Avon.”

“I’m sorry, Blake.”

“No, I should be sorry. It can’t be any better for you. You lived through all that, and now it must feel like you’re back to square one. That and worrying about your government back on Earth.”

“It’s not like we will stay here forever,” Vila said, before it occurred to him that he didn’t actually know that. It might well be that now that the _Liberator_ was back in its original universe, it wouldn’t be moving, and that he and Avon were stuck – _forever_? – in a universe where there was still the Federation, where they were still on the run, where they might have the _Liberator_ and Blake back, but where Servalan was still alive, where the Federation was still tormenting billions, where everything Avon and he had worked on through horror and pain was null and void. They had paid for what they had built – dearly, and, Vila thought, more than they could really afford – and here, it hadn’t happened yet. _I can’t do it again_ , he thought with horror, and only realised he’d spoken aloud when Blake’s hands closed around his. Vila was shaking from head to toe.

“Vila, calm down.”

“Not again. Blake, not again. I can’t do it again, it’ll destroy me. It’ll destroy Avon. It nearly did the first time!”

 _Panic attack. You’re having a panic attack_ , his mind said, but that wasn’t stopping it. Vila hadn’t had a full one in months, years even – and he’d been hiding them from Avon for even longer – but right now there was no stopping it. He dimly felt Blake pull the cup from his fingers as he sank to the floor, pulling up his knees and wrapping his arms around them, shuddering.  

“Vila, should I call Avon?”

“No-o.” Vila thought he might be crying. He felt as though he might be _dying_ but he knew he wasn’t, he _wasn’t_! “Doesn’t know.”

“Avon doesn’t know?!” Blake sounded outraged.

“Couldn’t tell… couldn’t… only me, and he was barely…”

“Your well-being is as important as his, Vila! All right, breathe with me. Vila. Breathe with me.”

Vila could hear him, far away, but he couldn’t…

“Breathe, Vila. One two three. Breathe. You’re all right. Breathe.”

Vila buried his head in his knees and tried, he tried, but it wasn’t working, it wasn’t… Perhaps he was dying? He couldn’t be dying!

“Breathe, Vila!” It was a different voice, Avon’s voice, slightly distorted by the comm unit.

“Hurts.”

“Breathe out, Vila.”

Breathe _out_?!?! He couldn’t catch his breath as it was!

“Out, and in. Out and in. _Out_ and in.” There was suddenly an arm around him, a hand on his arm, pushing slightly on every _out_. “Out and in, out and in.”

Slowly, agonisingly, Vila fell into the rhythm, _out and in_ , _out and in_ , and finally, finally, he could breathe again, the white noise in his head receding. He listed sideways, allowing himself to fall against the warm body sitting on the floor by his side. The comforting hand stayed on his upper arm, still pressing lightly on every exhale. Vila could hear both their breaths, now, no longer just his own frantic heartbeat rushing in his ears, a calm, quiet rhythm. _Out and in_. Vila almost didn’t want to open his eyes, didn’t want to know. He knew it wasn’t Blake, not anymore, the hand too light, the arm too thin, but he so wanted it to be _his_ Avon. But it couldn’t be, could it, not when they were sitting on the floor.

“Avon,” he said, on an exhale, just to see what Avon would say.

“Hm?” The small quizzical sound was calm, almost good-humoured. No trace of pain.

A ball of regret settled in Vila’s stomach, but he couldn’t bring himself to shift, to dislodge the arm. Let the illusion be just a little longer.

“Feeling better?” Avon murmured, his voice barely even audible.

“Maybe.”

“Hm,” Avon said again, and didn’t move away, his hand still echoing the rhythm of Vila’s breathing. “I’d hoped you might want to get up off this floor.”

Vila opened his eyes at that, and found himself glancing down Avon’s chest at a walking stick resting across a stiffly outstretched leg, knee pillowed precariously on Avon’s other ankle. Joy rose up from somewhere buried deep inside, until Vila felt like he must be glowing with it or burst. “Avon!”

This time, Avon pulled back his arm, rubbing lightly at his upper leg. “I do hope the panic attack hasn’t burned out what little brain cells you had.”

“It’s _you_!”

“Yes, it’s me. Very observant of you, Vila. Now could we _please_ –”

“Yes, of course.” Vila scrambled to his feet, placed the walking stick to the side within easy reach and slipped his own arm around Avon, carefully pulling him back to his feet.

Avon hissed and swayed, not putting his foot down at all. “Damn…”

“You shouldn’t have done that.”

“Perhaps not. But I wasn’t going to watch my thief struggling to breathe and do nothing. Do you think there’s any ice in that freezing unit?”

“Probably.” Vila didn’t ever bother to try and force down the grin that had spread on his face – not that he had the energy, not after a panic attack. He left Avon leaning against the counter and investigated the freezing unit – to his relief, he discovered a medical cooling pack in the back of one of the drawers and pulled it out, wrapping it up in a piece of scrap cloth – they’d kept them as hand and dish towels, but barely used them unless the dryer unit was broken. Vila passed the bundle to Avon, who carefully placed it on top of his knee.

Blake had left, of course – Vila couldn’t remember when, but then he couldn’t remember when Avon’s voice had switched from coming through the comm unit to being right next to him until Avon had laid his arm across his shoulders.

Vila leant back against the small kitchen table. “Should have told you.”

“Told me what?”

“About the panic attacks. Haven’t had a full one in years. And before that I didn’t think…”

“Do you ever?” Avon moved the cooling pack slightly to the side, not looking up. “I knew, Vila.”

“You _knew_?”

“Yes. Cally…” Avon paused, swallowing. “Cally always thought your stomach aches and your… pins and needles were symptoms of mild panic attacks. Then, after Malodar you started experiencing them full scale. It only got worse after Gauda Prime. You couldn’t exactly hide from me in that cell, Vila.”

“I thought you didn’t… you weren’t…”

Avon shrugged and righted himself, the ice pack resting in his palm. “ _There_? Perhaps I wasn’t. Not always, anyway. But I still knew.” He tossed the cooling pack to Vila, and picked up his stick. “Let’s get back to the flight deck before the cooling effect wears off.”

 

The flight deck sofa wasn’t particularly convenient for keeping one’s leg elevated, but Vila readily hurried away to find one of the reclining chairs while Avon sat down, keeping the cooling pack balanced on his knee and trying to get his mind back on the matter of multiverse theory. Blake, at least, had kept true to his word and had gone to his cabin, saving them all lengthy explanations. River was pacing the deck, thinking on his feet. Avon remembered doing that – lately, he’d thought it better to refrain.

 “We could take Zen apart, of course, until it answers the question.”

“It won’t do any good. I was working on Zen with Orac for over a year longer than you were – by the time we lost _Liberator_ , I could read the programming. I never found out what kept Zen from responding to certain questions.”

“But you agree that it _was_ the _Liberator_ that caused the jump between universes.”

“It would seem improbably that Blake’s order to Zen should coincide with a natural event, yes.”

“Then _Liberator_ must have the capability of triggering such jumps, and _something_ should have registered in Zen’s core processor, even if the energy surge was minute.”

“Can we determine the exact time of the initial jump? Examining several days’ worth of processor logs would take a long time.”

River paused, leaning against the front of the computer station. “Perhaps. The ship I arrived in has a basic automated running log. It should indicate when I set the course towards Earth; the jump happened not long before that.”

“All right,” nodded Avon, “so we might be able to determine how you arrived in our universe. A shame we don’t have any outside data of the jump. A field?”

“Yes, of course. It can’t use much more energy than the main drive, or Blake would have noticed the power drain.”

“So why are we back here now?” Vila asked. He came down towards them, and set down the promised chair next to the flight deck sofa. “Here you go, Avon.”

Avon moved seats, relieved that the throbbing in his knee lessened when he settled it on the curved leg rests of the chair, leaving the cooling pack under it. The pack was warming up quickly, but there could be no harm in using it to its fullest. Vila sat down next to him, in the spot Avon had just vacated.

“Well?” Vila asked.

“That’s what we’re trying to figure out, Vila.”

“There was certainly no power surge then. I was monitoring the systems when it happened,” River said.

“It felt like we were dropping out of the sky,” Vila mumbled.

Avon glanced at him, surprised. “What?”

“Like when we jump-started the engines that one time. That falling sensation? Didn’t either of you…?”

River shook his head. “Not that I remember, but then I was slightly distracted by the planetary defence grid opening fire.”

Avon thought back, trying to remember what he’d been doing – sleeping? And then… “ _Something_ woke me up. It wasn’t the first bolt impact.”

Vila looked gleeful. “See!”

“Was there anything like that on the first jump?”

“No.”

“You’re sure.”

“I’m sure. We can ask Blake to confirm it later, in case it was different for him, but I don’t think so.”

“A field collapsing,” Avon suggested, not really making it a question. River was clearly following his line of thinking.

“Yes. We both expected the shift to be temporary.”

“Then things could pass in and out the field without hindrance – your ship, Blake when he came down to the planet, Vila and I. Everything inside the field was pulled back when it collapsed – your ship was close enough to the _Liberator_ to get caught both times, and Vila and I were well inside the field on its collapse.”

“So it would seem. It’s all guesswork, of course. We would need to measure a jump from outside to be sure, and even then...”

“The question remains, then, how do we repeat the jump?”

“Can’t we just ask Zen?” Vila put in.

“We have.”

“Zen says it’s an ‘invalid instruction’, which essentially means our terminology is wrong,” Avon explained.

“If the ship _was_ responsible, we simply have to find the command sequence and ask Zen to repeat it.”

“Yes. Do we want to without knowing how quickly the field will collapse?”

“Shouldn’t it stay active for the same length of time as the last one? Days?” Vila asked, gaining a surprised glance from River. Avon knew better by now than to be surprised that Vila could follow discussions on complex material.

“ _If_ the circumstances are the same. And _if_ we can get Zen to actually do it.”

“Right, but we don’t need days, do we? Just enough time to get back to Earth.”

“Off the _Liberator_ might have to do. Provided the geographical location remains constant, it would be… unadvisable to approach Earth again in this universe. We would be better of being dropped off in the Outer Worlds – though we might have some explaining to do.” Avon leant back, resting his head against the backrest, and looked up at the ceiling. “By now that’ll probably be unavoidable.”

“And wouldn’t that be convenient for you,” Vila mumbled, and Avon shot him a sharp glance. Vila didn’t meet his gaze.

River cleared his throat. “I should get down to the ship, then, and pull up the running log. When we have figured out the technicalities, we can start thinking about whether it’s worth the risk. Do you agree?”

Avon forced himself to look away from Vila, and folded his arms to quench the need to lay a hand on Vila’s arm and try, again, to explain, to comfort, to… “Yes.”

“Vila. Keep watch on the flight deck, would you?”

Vila blinked, finally tearing his gaze from the floor. “Huh? Oh. Yes. All right.”

 

Vila pushed himself off the sofa and sidestepped around Avon – so what if he hovered pointlessly at the front of the flight deck and could feel River’s gaze raising goose bumps on his skin? Vila tried to summon the persona of the Chancellor, but here, on _Liberator_ , it wouldn’t come. “Go ahead,” he told River, who looked unconvinced, but refrained from comment. Instead, he started on his way off the flight deck – taking, naturally, the exit that would take him to the docking area fastest, but he’d barely stepped past Vila and Avon when he suddenly stumbled and Avon gasped.

“What?” Vila exclaimed, shocked. “What is it?”

Avon reached out a hand, and Vila took it without hesitation, finding tears tracking unchecked down Avon’s cheeks. He didn’t seem aware of them, his eyes distant even as he clung onto Vila’s hand with desperation.

“Avon, you’re scaring me!”

Avon took a gulp of air, as if he’d forgotten how to breathe properly. “Cally.” It was barely a whisper.

“Cally? Cally is dead.”

“No. She’s–”

“– afraid,” River finished, and Vila looked up to see him leaning against Vila’s old station. His face was dry, but ash white.

“She contacted you? But she isn’t on the ship!”

“There were no words – just… an impression. A cry for help. From Auron.” Avon’s fingers twitched as if he wanted to loosen his grip on Vila’s hands but couldn’t bring himself to do it.

“Zen, set a course for Auron. Maximum possible speed,” River instructed, sounding more like himself again. “I’ll go and tell Blake and head down to the ship. We might as well use the flight time for something productive.”

Vila nodded and watched him go before crouching down by Avon’s side. “Avon? Let go of my hand?”

Avon’s fingers finally unclenched, and he brought the hand up to wipe at his face. The hand was shaking badly. “Sorry.”

“Was it really Cally?”

“Oh yes.”

“At least she’s still alive.”

“For now. Let’s hope we’re not too late.”

“But how did you hear her? Her telepathy doesn’t work over long distances.”

Avon shook his head. “I don’t know. When… our Cally died, do you remember…”

“Yes, I heard her then.”

Avon lowered his hand slowly, as if reluctant to uncover his eyes. “It was a little like that,” he said quietly. “Very powerful, desperate, as if all her force had been behind that one message.”

“Do you think Blake heard?”

“Did you?”

“No.”

“Perhaps it only reached us because there’s two of us. Let’s hope we get to ask her?”

Vila nodded. “Yes.” He’d missed Cally, _fiercely_ , but part of him was reluctant. After all, this wasn’t _their_ Cally, and who knew what trouble came in her wake. “Zen, how long before we reach Auron?”

“ _Liberator_ will be in teleport range in 2.25 hours.”

It was less time than Vila had expected. “What now?”

“Perhaps it is time for us to familiarise us with recent history. As… heartfelt Blake’s account was, it was somewhat lacking in facts.”

Vila sank down on the sofa. “I don’t want to know. I’m not even sure whether I’m surrounded by ghosts – or whether _I’m_ the ghost!”

“I’d rather be forewarned. I’ve had enough of surprises. But I’ll spare you the details,” Avon said, and Vila watched him climb to his feet laboriously and limp over to his station, calling up the records on the screens there. He looked unwell, but for all intents and purposes not as though he had just come out of the severest bouts of pain of the last months or more, nor had just been brought to tears by the sheer pressure of a telepathic contact from someone they had long lost and been unable to even bury.

“I don’t know how you do it.” The words escaped Vila before he could think better of bringing it up.

“Do what?” Avon asked distractedly.

“ _I_ can’t do it again, Avon. I don’t want to do it again, and if it means taking a ship and running for the rest of my life while the universe succumbs to the Federation. I want to go _home_ , even if that means I’ll be stuck as Chancellor for as long as I live – at least all the pain and death I remember will have had an effect! I don’t know where you find all the energy to just keep going as if we were back on the _Liberator_!”

Vila half-expected Avon to point out that they _were_ – perhaps not their _Liberator_ , but the _Liberator_ nonetheless, but when Avon looked at him, it wasn’t with the patient indulgence that Vila had expected, but with shuttered eyes that had long ceased to be able to mask the pain behind them. “Energy, Vila? I _never_ have any energy left. I keep going because if I kept waiting until I have _energy_ , I wouldn’t have got up out of my bed in the last _years_. This isn’t surplus energy – this…” He paused, flicking his gaze away. “This costs. Every minute of it costs, some days more than others, and sooner or later I’ll have to pay for it. There’s no end to it Vila, so what would you have me do but ‘keep going’?” 

The constant sounds of the flight deck, the hum of the engines beneath their feet was deafening loud in the silence that followed Avon’s quiet words. Vila couldn’t tear his gaze away from Avon’s face while Avon stared down at his console, unblinking, unmoving, lips pressed together in a thin line.

“That’s why you want to leave, isn’t it?” Vila asked finally. “To reduce what it costs you.”

The corner of Avon’s mouth quirked, a strange flicker in his too still face. “Blake once accused me of playing the percentages. I suppose this isn’t any different.”

“I’m wrong, then,” Vila said, and Avon finally looked up.

“Why do you say that?”

“Because you just compared me to Blake, and you don’t think Blake was right. I know you, Avon.”

“All right.” Avon leant back in his chair, looking ahead to Zen’s reference point. “I don’t _want_ to leave. I would have left so you don’t end up paying the cost on my behalf.”

“Avon… if I minded, do you think I’d have stuck around this long?”

“You had nowhere else to go.”

Vila nearly laughed. “That was a long time ago. I’m Chancellor of the New Federation now. I could have gone anywhere! I could have _ordered you_ to be taken anywhere!”

“Ah, but the fact that you didn’t shows you are too kind for your own good, Vila.”

Vila came to his feet, leaning over the sofa and getting as far into Avon’s space as he could without walking all the way around it. “Will you come off it?! I wasn’t – I _am not_ being kind! I’m being selfish! You’re the most valuable thing I ever managed to steal and I don’t want to _keep going_ without you by my side!”

Avon stared at him, eyes wide in surprise, and Vila stared right back.

The moment only broke when Blake came onto the flight deck and delicately cleared his throat.

Avon looked away first, blinking at his console, and Vila eased back down onto the sofa. They didn’t speak again, working in quiet silence even as River returned and started feeding the flight recorder data of his ship into the computer.

Eventually, it was Zen who broke the silence: “Auron will be in teleport range in ten minutes.”

“Thank you, Zen,” Blake said automatically.

“Information,” Zen boomed on, “an unknown substance has been detected in the fresh water supply of planet Auron.”

“A substance?” Now, at last, Blake sounded alarmed.

Vila called up the scanner data on his console, and felt a cold thrill running down his spine. “Avon!”

Avon, who had simply been leaning back while River worked on transferring the data, was now hanging onto the console for dear life, eyes fixed on the screen, whereas River traded a perplexed glance with Blake. “Yes, I see it.”

“What is it, Avon?” Blake asked.

“Pylene 50,” Vila answered, unable to bring his voice above a whisper, cold horror and dread settling like a lump in his stomach.

“What’s Pylene 50?” Blake asked, patience wearing thin.

Vila ignored him. “But it can’t be! Avon, the Federation only developed Pylene 50 some two years _after_ the Andromedan War.”

“We don’t know that,” Avon said. “All we know is that it wasn’t _used_ before then, at least not on a planet-wide scale. You know as well as I do that they had been using something like it on prison transports for decades.”

“ _What_ is Pylene 50?!” Blake thundered, cutting Avon’s musings short.

“It’s a pacification drug. At first, they needed to administer it to individuals, later they used it in the domes. It blocks the production of adrenalin, among other things. If it’s in the drinking water…” Avon trailed off, then suddenly tore his hand away from the console and took hold of his stick. “Vila and I should man the teleport.”

Blake raised an eyebrow, but speedily switched track, while River remained curiously silent, watching Avon. “Why?” Blake said. “This is _our_ Cally, and she thinks both of you are dead. I should go.” 

“Because, Blake, I can _sit down_ at the teleport console whereas you need to stay on the flight deck in case of an attack. Besides, Vila and I have full immunity to Pylene 50. See if you can raise someone that isn’t Federation on the surface. I will scan for teleport bracelets and if all else fails, Vila will go down.”

“Now wait a minute, Avon–”

Avon didn’t even spare him a glance. “Get a gun, Vila.”

“Avon?” Blake said, but clearly meant River.

River gave a humourless grin. “Surely you don’t expect me to disagree with myself, Blake?”

And that settled the matter.


	8. Chapter 8

Vila had practically stopped his protests by the time Avon slid behind the teleport console, immediately running a surface scan. It might have been incongruous for the Vila of the _Liberator_ days, but somewhere along the way Chancellor Vila had learned to bow to necessity, no matter how much it might inconvenience him. That didn’t mean he wasn’t going to complain to _Avon_ afterwards.

Vila snapped his gun belt shut. “I still have the teleport implant. Can you bring me up with that?”

“The adjustments should only take a moment,” Avon said, distracted by the scan.

“Then make the adjustments!”

“I will, Vila, don’t worry.”

“Don’t worry, he says. You aren’t about to teleport down to a pacified planet, are you? Where’s Tarrant when you need him?”

“Tarrant is dead,” Avon said cruelly, and opened a communication link to the flight deck. “Anything, Blake?”

It was River who answered: “There is a faint signal – we think it might be a distress beacon, on an atypical carrier wave.”

“Better than nothing. The console doesn’t pick up any bracelets. Give me the coordinates.”

The data transfer was nearly instantaneous, and Avon fed the coordinates into the system for quick pick-up.

Vila stood in front of the console, snapping a bracelet closed about his wrist and cradling several others. “I’m going down, then.”

“Yes.” Avon looked up, meeting anxious brown eyes. He reached out and gave Vila’s hand a brief squeeze before he could rethink the impulse. “Good luck. Keep the communications link open. If I don’t hear from you for even a minute, I’m pulling you out.”

“All right.” Vila stepped back into the teleport bay, and gave a terse nod.

Avon watched the disintegration sequence and held his breath until Vila’s voice crackled through the speaker. “Down and safe. Gods, Avon…”

“What do you see?”

“I’m outside the city. No one around, but… Avon, they’re _burning bodies_. I can see the fire in the distance.”

Avon swallowed against the nausea at stench that rose unbidden in his memory, and let his fingers dance over the console, setting it up to recognise the implant as a bracelet just in case. “Be careful.”

“There’s a cave. I’m going in.” A moment of silence, the scrambling of feet on rock. “I think there’s someone there.”

Silence. Avon’s hand shot to the recall button. “Vila?”

Then, Vila’s voice, relieved and pleasantly surprised: “Cally!”

Avon choked on a sigh of relief when he remembered. “Vila, the Auronar…”

“Have clones, I know, but it’s Cally all right! Cally, over here! Now don’t look so surprised; we’ll explain when we’ve got you out of here.”

“Vila!” Avon prompted – it was impossible to discern what was going on from Vila’s words, and as yet Cally hadn’t spoken.

Then, suddenly, he felt it, the touch of a foreign mind to his, far too loud, louder than Cally had ever been, bringing an instant, horrible migraine: _Hello, Avon._ Oh, it was Cally, all right, but too loud, too overwhelming.

“Cally, keep your voice down,” Avon ground out, the console swimming before his eyes.

“You can bring us up now,” Vila chirped.

Avon activated the recall sequence blindly and let his head drop down on his arms. The room was still spinning. Vaguely, he registered River out of the corner of his eyes, staggering into the doorway. So, he had heard Cally, too. The headache was fading, but with agonising slowness.

And then there they were.

There was a bounce in Vila’s step as he swarmed around Cally, taking her bracelet and returning it to its place. Cally smiled, but looked tired, worn down, dehydrated. She had been avoiding the water.

“Hello, Avon,” she said again, aloud this time, then, taking a step forward, she paused. Her eyes narrowed. “But you’re not…”

“No, he isn’t,” River said, leaning in the doorway.

Cally looked over to him, and back to Avon at the console, and went to greet River. “Avon,” she said, with more conviction, and clasped his arms for a moment. Then, she turned back around.

Vila had come over to lean against the teleport console by Avon, arms folded, and smiling. His eyes were sparkling, and Avon felt a pang of grief at the fact that there was no chance to bring _their_ Cally back, if it made Vila smile like that to see her again.

“And Vila,” Cally went on, “and… Avon?”

Avon turned his head to look at her wearily. “Do you want the long version or the short?”

 

They returned to the flight deck to bring Cally up to speed, and Avon put them back on course to the Outer Planets while the others settled on the sofa. Cally treated Blake and River with enthusiastic familiarity, and Vila with the same playful friendliness she’d always shown towards him, but she remained wary of Avon. The wariness stung, more than it should have. Surely Cally knew that Vila didn’t belong any more than Avon did – after all, _their_ Vila was dead. Perhaps Avon was being unkind. Perhaps she was simply relieved to see Vila again, whereas there were _two_ of him. Avon busied himself with the sensory data, trying to recall whether this formula of Pylene 50 differed any from the one they had known. Mostly, he was just staring at the data to tune out the confusing jumble of emotions and the tedious summary of their situation.

Suddenly, gently: _Avon_.

The headache was immediately back and Avon winced, looking up to meet Cally’s gaze.

“Don’t do that,” River said, and Cally’s eyes flicked to him in surprise.

“You were able to hear me?”

“We hear you at the same time, and far too loudly. The fact that there are two of us must cause amplification – that’s how we knew you needed help in the first place. In short, you’re giving us a headache,” River said, with a slight smile. Like Vila, like Blake, he seemed to truly enjoy Cally’s presence.

Again there was a pang of grief, and Avon dropped his gaze back down to the console, hardly seeing it at all.

“I see,” Cally said. “That is most unusual. Even between clone sisters, this has never happened.”

“Don’t the Auronar share everything, anyway?” Avon asked, falling into a pattern of cruel barbs he hadn’t intended to revisit, but it was a defence mechanism true and tried.

“The Auronar are dead or enslaved,” Cally shot back with vehemence. “Something in the water. It completely suppresses telepathic ability.”

“Interesting. What a convenient side effect for the Federation.”

“That’s enough, Avon,” Blake said, but it was the look in Vila’s eyes when he glanced up that stopped Avon from saying anything else. He forced himself to hold Vila’s gaze, but finally couldn’t bear it any longer. He powered down the console, gathering up his stick.

“I’ll be in my cabin, should anyone need me,” he said and walked out. He was half-way down the corridor before it occurred to him that _his cabin_ was _River’s_. So, instead, he let himself into Vila’s, just as familiar, and lay down on the disordered bed, trying to think of nothing at all.

After a while of not-sleeping, Avon heard a voice in the corridor, and knocking against the neighbouring door – Cally. Back on _their Liberator_ , Cally would have refused to go away until he had also ignored her telepathic voice, but here she refrained from using it, saving him another headache. Or perhaps she meant to save River. Avon thought he might have opened the door if she had been knocking on the right one – maybe. As it was, it gave him an excuse to ignore her. After a minute or so, the knocking stopped and Cally’s steps quietly faded down the corridor.

Avon braved the ache in his knee and picked himself up to limp into Vila’s freshener unit to shower – as if the water could wash away the aches and the curious blankness of thought that had settled over him along with the grime and sweat. He leant back against the tiles, the floor a well-remembered non-slippery material he had never found time to investigate. It would have been useful in his own shower, back on Earth; now it at least saved him from slipping on the tiles even as he took all the weight off his leg. Avon turned his face into the spray, focussing his attention on the sensation of warm water running down his body. He never showered for long, even though he now had the luxury of time – his knee would eventually protest the stiff standing position and would force him to move now or fall later.

Avon, of course, had not brought any change of clothes, so he, somewhat unwillingly, located underwear and a robe amongst Vila’s clothes. Their time as prisoners of the Federation had eroded all barriers of possessions (and most of the body) between Vila and him, and they had frequently considered it fortunate that they were roughly the same size, but these things belonged to the _other_ Vila – the one who was dead. The shudder of fear at that thought penetrated even the haze of mental and physical exhaustion, and Avon crawled under the lone blanket on the bed in an effort to feel warm. He ought to elevate his knee, but there was nothing suitable in the room, so he curled reluctantly onto his side instead, exposing his back to the room.

He was dozing when the door opened quietly, and barely twitched at the sound. He was far too exhausted to start.

“Thought you’d be here.”

Vila. Avon breathed a sigh of relief.

“Not exactly your cabin, is it?”

“ _My_ cabin is still occupied,” Avon mumbled.

“Eh? And mine isn’t?”

“Not by its original owner.”

Vila sighed. “Can’t very well ask you to move now.”

“You ought to.”

“Why? Why do you want me to add to the cost, Avon?” Vila asked softly.

Avon twisted his upper body so he could look at him. “You need rest as well – where are you going to sleep?”

“We’ll share,” Vila said, as if there was no doubt in his mind that that was the most practical solution. “It’s not as large as our beds back home, but it _is_ broader than a prison bench.”

It was true – and they had shared then, too. It had been out of necessity, not choice, neither of them able to stand the ice-cold floor of the cell for very long, but by the end it had been a matter of course. Avon warred with himself for a moment, the forceful desire to be _alone_ in conflict with the need to know that he _wasn’t_. He felt like he was drowning, sinking into a quagmire, and suddenly he _needed_ Vila’s voice with an intensity that took his breath away.

Vila must have seen something in his expression, for he started slipping out of his jacket and shoes, and let his voice fall into an easily babbling lilt. “Not much going on at the moment anyway. We’re keeping away from any Federation presence, which means taking the long way round. Most of the others have gone to rest, too. Blake took the watch, not that there’s much to watch out for, eh, just lots and lots of empty space.” Vila rummaged around, pulling open a storage drawer under the bed. “Here, do you want another pillow, blanket? They’re nothing better than what’s there, but it’s something.”

Avon nodded, and surrendered himself to Vila’s ministrations. Vila knew better than anyone how to elevate Avon’s knee as he was resting on his side without causing additional pain, and Avon was free to let reality retreat a little. He only pulled himself back when Vila had settled down beside him and everything was falling silent. “Vila?”

“Yeh?”

Several things sat on the tip of Avon’s tongue, threatening to spill forth into the semi-dark and warmth produced by Vila’s closeness. Avon swallowed them all down, and settled for the truth. “You never added to the cost.” His words seemed to ring in the darkness, accentuated by the distant pulsing of the engines. Avon breathed. “In fact, I much prefer to split the winnings.”

“Such as they are?” He didn’t have to turn his head to know that Vila was smiling.

Avon nodded against the pillow. “Such as they are.”

“Go to sleep, Avon.” Vila’s hand started rubbing little circles into his tense shoulders, the movement as soothing as his voice and slowly lulling Avon into sleep.

 

Vila watched Avon drift off with a small smile. He was still worried, his own emotions in turmoil, his body exhausted beyond belief after the panic attack earlier. Still, despite the horror of Pylene 50, seeing Cally again had been the high point of his day, if not his week. Meeting Blake again was one thing – but Cally, Cally had been a real friend, and Vila had missed her with a ferocity he had never missed Blake. It was good to talk to her again, feel the gentle touch of her thoughts again – nothing else was the same. Of course Avon’s reaction had worried him. Vila had thought Avon would be happy to see her again, had seemed happy enough before they had actually teleported her aboard, but while they all gathered on the sofa in front of the flight deck, Avon had remained away from the group, barely speaking at all. Vila surmised that it had something to do with the presence of River, and the fact that when Cally spoke telepathically to him, she spoke to _both_ of them. Still, Cally would sort it out – she’d always had a way of getting through to Avon, there was no need for Vila to get involved.

And besides, something had shifted between Avon and him. Vila could feel it, a lightness in his chest that hadn’t been there earlier, when he had been scared that, sooner rather than later, Avon would leave for the Outer Worlds. That possibility was still there, of course, but _something_ had changed that Vila couldn’t quite put his finger on. He wasn’t even sure whether it had started when Avon had helped him through his panic attack, or when they had talked on the flight deck, or whether it had only been Avon’s mumbled words as he was falling asleep, more raw honesty than Avon had offered him about anything but his pain levels since he had told Vila that he was scared in their Federation prison cell.

Vila remembered that night well – if it was night; their cell had no window, of course, and it was constantly illuminated. There were periods where they would be left alone which, for simplicity’s sake, they had taken to referring to as night. Vila was still unsure, even thinking back now, whether his mind had chosen to preserve that moment in a period of _hell_ because, somehow, it was one of the happiest memories he had of that time, despite the horror, or whether it was a simple fluke of the brain. It had been the night Avon had… come back.

Right after they had been captured, Avon had been detached and cold and nasty, as if none of the deaths had mattered. Then, one day, the torturers took him away and when they brought him back to their shared cell, Avon wasn’t _there_ anymore. Oh, his body was – and they had healed him, too – but he would sit unnaturally quiet, his hands never clasped but entirely still by his side, wouldn’t sleep, wouldn’t respond to Vila’s voice, even merely rocked with the blow when Vila slapped him in desperation. Apart from sleeping, which he only did when he fell over, Avon went through all routines on autopilot, but there was no sign that the Avon Vila had known was still alive. At first, Vila had thought they’d pumped him full of Pylene 50, enough to break the immunity, or that they had used some derivative drug, and he had assumed they had only brought Avon back to break Vila before they would do the same to him. He’d cried himself to sleep, then, feeling more alone than ever before even with Avon sitting not three feet away. Vila had been terrified nearly out of his mind. Only they hadn’t taken Vila to be drugged, and kept taking Avon away, too, sometimes returning him horribly bruised from the torture machines, but it never seemed to reach Avon at all anymore. Vila had been scared of him and for him, and had taken to staying away, curling up miserably on the other side of the cell. Only one day when the torturers had thrown Avon back into the cell, he hadn’t got up to go sit where he always sat, unmoving, for hours until exhaustion made him sleep, but had stayed where they’d thrown him, and had curled into a ball and started to shake from head to toe. It was different, and that was enough to draw Vila to his side. And Avon had met his gaze and said his name and broken down crying and between sobs had talked and talked and talked. It was only a different kind of breakdown, of course, and it didn’t stop the horror – Avon still went _away_ , frequently even, but he kept coming back, and they were still prisoners with no hope for survival, and they were still tortured, and in the morning they found out that Avon couldn’t walk unaided because something had been done to his knee that would never mend. But that night, Vila was no longer all alone, and Avon had fallen asleep to Vila stroking his hair as they huddled together on the narrow bench that couldn’t even pretend to be a bed. It had given Vila back something he hadn’t been able to name then, but knew by now that it was, simply really, _hope_.

He’d lost it somewhere along the way, between Malodar and Gauda Prime and the never-ending torture, but it came back that night, a tiny, unquenchable flame. And as long as they were together, that hope had never gone away again, not once in all the horror that still followed.

His and Avon’s relationship had changed through it all, of course, but while they no longer had any qualms about sharing and while there was a familiarity between them that hadn’t been there before, they had found that it was best for both of them to return to some semblance of the relationship they had had on the _Liberator_. That meant that Avon was not given to emotional displays, and Vila could hide behind the façade of the fool when he needed it even though he was the Chancellor of the New Federation when he walked out of Avon’s suite of rooms. It worked, and over the years the enforced closeness of the prison cell had turned to closeness by choice. And that was it, wasn’t it? Avon admitting that Vila’s presence didn’t cost him, that he didn’t stick around out of some form of self-punishment, was confirmation that River had been right: Avon _didn’t_ _want to leave_ _him_.

“Vila, all that thinking isn’t good for you. Go to sleep,” Avon’s voice sounded suddenly, pulling Vila abruptly from his thoughts.

“How’d you know I was awake? Why are _you_ awake?”

Avon shifted a little, careful of his leg, and chuckled softly. “You may not realise, but you do snore.”

“I don’t!” Vila protested in a whisper.

“Yes, you do. Go to sleep.”

“And what about you, eh?”

“I suppose the silence woke me up.” Avon’s voice slurred a little, heavy with sleep. “ _Sleep_ , Vila.”

“All right.” Vila curled up against Avon’s back, and after a short time, the sound of Avon’s even breathing let him drift off to sleep, a smile still on his lips.

 

The morning came all too soon, and Avon sighed in the memory of the days he could wake up and not be in pain. Of course backaches had always been an issue, but the faint morning twinges were hardly comparable to the never-ending hurt and stiffness in his knee. Avon stretched out carefully, rolling onto his back. It could have been worse – cooling the knee seemed to have helped with the inflammation, and he seemed to be back to the ordinary, everyday ache. Besides…

Avon let his gaze linger on Vila’s face, illuminated faintly by the night-level lights of the _Liberator_ cabins. The lights were hardly flattering, but they could have done worse on Vila. Or perhaps that was the small smile on Vila’s face even as he lay in deep sleep, snoring softly. Avon had always wondered at Vila’s ability to still smile so easily, even after everything. Had quietly marvelled at the strength Vila showed time and time again, when _shallows_ brought him to Avon’s side on the days he’d had a panic attack of his own. Avon had always been able to tell, but back when the attacks had been more frequent, he’d hardly had the energy to keep himself from falling apart, let alone try and offer any kind of help to Vila. In so many ways, their relationship had become dreadfully one-sided. After the political situation had settled down, even the intelligence work he did for Vila – that Vila knew about, but didn’t want to _know about_ – had lost its usefulness, and Avon could hardly call himself a politician. The title he had been given was one of ceremonial only, despite Vila’s insistence that that wasn’t the case – in civic matters, at least those that were unconnected to computer systems, Avon wasn’t in a position to offer advice. He had wanted to leave to free Vila from the obligation – after all, no one owed him _less_ than Vila. Whatever debt had been between them, Vila had repaid it a long time ago, and now… now it had just seemed as if Avon had been adding to Vila’s “cost”.

Vila shifted in his sleep, snuggling into the pillow and drawing in breath with a snore. Avon grinned at the sound – _I do not snore_ , indeed. Leaving him to his slumber a little longer, the _Liberator_ ’s engines reassuringly even in the background, Avon turned his attention half-heartedly to the little exercises he had been taught to keep his knee mobile. On an ordinary day, when he could keep on his feet, that was exercise enough, but the last few days had been far from ordinary. The soft, gentle movements couldn’t do any harm – Cally might have enjoyed the idea of having a variant of her exercises put to good use. Cally.

Avon grew still. The thought of Cally had always come habitually to him when he had gone through the exercises; he had never examined it twice. Now, Cally was here, on the ship with them – _a_ Cally, anyway. He couldn’t very well continue to avoid her – nor did he want to. But perhaps it could wait a little longer, until he was a little more awake.

Suddenly, Vila flung out his arm, draping it across Avon’s midriff and softly tugging at him. Avon gave up on his exercises and nudged the arm. “Vila, wake up.”

Vila mumbled something incomprehensible and pulled again with slightly more strength, drawing Avon closer.

“Vila! I’m not your cuddly toy!”

“Mmm, Avon, shut up,” Vila grumbled, but it sounded like he was still deeply asleep.

With a sigh Avon subsided, relieved that, at least, there was no chance Vila would push him _off_ the bed with the wall on Avon’s other side. Avon would need to stand sooner rather than later, but for now there seemed no harm in doing what Vila had asked and allow himself, for a little while longer, the luxury of not having to think.

Of course, it was Vila who broke the silence, though the sudden loud rumbling of the thief’s stomach didn’t take only Avon by surprise. He chuckled as Vila came awake with a small jerk, smacking his lips and staring at Avon in disorientation. “What?”

“The feast you were devouring in your dreams doesn’t seem to have been very nourishing.”

Vila blinked slowly, looking vaguely startled when his stomach made its displeasure known again. He dragged his arm back to rub at his face, and only then seemed to realise where he was. “Oh. Avon.”

“You could try and sound less pleased,” Avon said, taking the edge off the words with a quick grin.

Vila blinked again. “You’re in a good mood.”

“I suppose I am. Now will you get up before you mistake me for your breakfast as well as your cuddly toy?”

Vila pulled a sleep-addled face. “No thanks. I’m…”

“A vegetarian, I know. Will you move, then, so I can stretch my leg?”

“Right. Sorry.” Vila curled into a tiny ball, letting Avon slip past him to sit on the edge of the bed, then stretched out all across the bed again in Avon’s back. “You know, we should have kidnapped and reprogrammed one of those guard robots to bring us breakfast in bed.”

Avon gave a light laugh, surprising himself. “If we had, you’d have had it wait on you hand and foot and we would never have seen you on the flight deck at all. As it was, at least you had to get up to fetch your drinks.”

“Hm, I’m not _that_ lazy.”

“Yes, you are.” Avon pushed himself carefully to his feet, steading himself on the sloping ceiling. “Unless, that is, there is a lock to be opened.”

“Think about it, though. Breakfast in bed? Not having to move? Fresh fruit and juice and tea and those little cakes you won’t admit you like.”

Avon hummed, thinking about it despite himself. Lately, eating in bed had often meant that getting up was impossible, which generally was far from comfortable. That didn’t mean he couldn’t appreciate Vila’s hedonistic fantasies once in a while.

“That’d be nice, eh, Avon?”

“If you think I’m going to fetch you breakfast, you’re mistaken.”

Vila beamed up at him. “Oh no, I would never expect that. You’ll just put too much sugar in my tea.”

“You’ll have to get up and make it yourself, then.”

“Suppose I do.” Vila held out his hand for Avon to help him up, even though he knew better than to entrust much of his weight to Avon’s precarious stance, and clambered to his feet. “Huh, I suppose you need something to wear first.”

The thought doused Avon’s good mood a little. He looked at the clothes he had discarded the day before, and found himself singularly unwilling to slip into them again, but Vila’s wardrobe was only a temporary solution, and the _Liberator_ ’s storage was a long trek into the bowels of the ship away.

“He’s not going to bite _your_ head off, you know,” Vila said, following Avon’s train of thought without effort. “He might not even be in.”

It wasn’t unlikely, but somehow Avon doubted it was true. “Very well.” He pulled Vila’s robe tighter about himself, slipped into his shoes and picked up his stick – he thought he could have gone without it for now, but the distances on the _Liberator_ were hardly comparable to those in his suite. He couldn’t come back and fetch it in just a few steps if he should need it later.

Vila nodded at him, his smile half encouraging, half understanding. “Meet you in the corridor in a few.”

Avon waited until Vila’s door had closed completely before he went to knock at the door to his own cabin, feeling absurd. After a good night’s sleep, the mere presence of River seemed like an abstruse dream, no matter that he had known that there would be alternate versions of all of them in this universe as soon as Blake appeared on their doorstep. Of all the things he’d expected to encounter before he died, a younger alternate version of himself hadn’t been on the list – certainly not _after_ they had stopped careening all across the known universe and, frankly, stumbling over some things that were just too strange to recount.

There was a familiar clattering sound from within the cabin – the sound of circuit boards being placed on his worktable – and River opened the door. He didn’t look surprised, though a wry smile appeared on his face. “Ah, I did wonder whether you found somewhere else to sleep.”

Avon vaguely indicated the way into the cabin. “Do you mind?”

River stepped aside, letting him in, and closed the door again. He was fully dressed, and the spotlight over the workbench was on, confirming Avon’s suspicion that he had been working on some of the items laid out there.

“You look better today,” River remarked.

“A bit of sleep will do that,” Avon said, distracted by the cabin. It wasn’t just that he hadn’t been there in a long time, and that the last he had seen of it had been over a year after the Andromedan War, and he had made a few changes by then that were absent now. _Something_ hung in the air, something that set the room apart even from how Avon remembered it being before Star One – a sense of loneliness, of grief that had nothing of the vitriolic bitterness of what he had felt after Anna. It was more like the dull aching pain that was his constant companion in a physical sense now. Avon looked around, his gaze catching on a chess set and a small box of tools stored at the foot of the bed – Vila’s.

“I didn’t take much with me when I left,” River said quietly. “Del and I were going after Anna’s killer – most things here would have been unnecessary baggage.” He sat at the table, reclaiming the chair he had vacated to let Avon in. “There are still plenty of things in the wardrobe.”

Despite himself, Avon reached out to open the small chess set, running his fingers over one of the white rooks. He knew now what he had sensed – the spectre of this universe’s Vila. Vila – his Vila – hadn’t missed his toolkit yet, nor the chess set, but then he had his own pouch of tools hidden away in the folds of his clothes, and they had hardly had time to think about playing chess. Avon wasn’t exactly surprised that River had kept the tools – after all, they were delicate instruments, just as suited for working on a computer as for opening locks – but the chess set was clearly sentimental, and that before they had even been to Freedom City together.

“It belonged to–”

“Vila. Yes. I know.”

Avon caught River smiling crookedly in the corner of his eye. “Perhaps I should give it back.”

“Don’t bother. Vila doesn’t need it – nor the tools.”

“He might if we cannot get you back home.”

“There are enough chess sets on the _Liberator_ , and Vila has his own set of tools. More advanced ones, too.” Avon remembered Vila’s toolkit of old – the painstakingly collected mishmash of items, the functions of many of which were now included in a single one of the probes Vila carried with him wherever he went.

“You slept in his cabin,” River said, his voice carrying nothing but a neutral statement.

Avon moved to select fresh clothes just so he didn’t have to turn and face him. He let the robe pool at his waist and slipped into one of the black undershirts. “Yes.”

“I take it he was there too.”

“Yes. We… have got used to the lack of personal space.”

“Avon.”

Avon fingered one of the jackets – it was one of the older ones, one he hadn’t worn in quite a while even before they lost the _Liberator_. Silver and grey, sharply cut. He didn’t really wear silver anymore, but the material would be slightly more forgiving to the way his body had changed over the years than some of the others. “What?”

“I was just wondering whether you had stopped lying to yourself about him yet.”

“Oh yes. A long time ago.”

“Really?” Now River sounded doubtful.

Avon slipped into the jacket, pulling up the zipper. “Clearly _you_ have, so you oughtn’t be surprised.”

“Yes. But he had died.”

Avon slammed his palm against the wall, suddenly angry. “And I tried to kill him! Does that answer your question?!”

River, of course, was unfazed. “Well?”

“What difference does it make?” Discarding Vila’s robe, Avon focussed on slipping on a pair of trousers without falling, resolutely keeping his eyes away from his alter-ego’s face.

“A lot, when you can still do something about it!” River suddenly came to his feet, now also angry. “Do you think he knows?!”

Avon picked up the robe, folding it over his arm. “Possibly.”

River sighed. “You won’t tell him, will you?”

“Vila already has too many reasons to feel sorry for me without adding another one.”

“I _know you_ , Avon! Are you punishing yourself or hurting him?”

“Drop it.”

“Yes, because that has worked out so well for either of us.”

Weirdly, Avon felt himself backed into a corner. He tightened his hold on his stick. “Anna…”

“No.”

For the first time, Avon looked up, and saw raw anger and pain flaring in River’s eyes. Was that how he looked when…?

River stepped forward. “You cannot _seriously_ believe he would betray you, after all those years!”

Suddenly, before Avon could think of something to say, there was a sharp knock on the door.

Vila’s voice drifted tentatively through the metal alloy. “Avon? Should I go ahead and make tea or will it be cold by the time the two of you are done?”

“Just a moment, Vila!” Avon called out to him, then closed the wardrobe and brushed past his alter ego with barely a glance, leaving the cabin before he could do something stupid.

Vila was waiting for him, leaning against the corridor wall opposite. “Everything all right?”

Avon tossed him the robe. “How much did you hear?”

“Hardly anything.”

“Vila…”

“It’s true!” Vila keyed open his own cabin again and flung the robe haphazardly inside. “A bit of incomprehensible shouting. Just thought I’d better intervene before I have to pry you from your own throat.” He reached out, briefly touching Avon’s hand as it lay on the walking stick – making Avon realise only then how tense his grip was. “Good mood all gone?”

Avon inhaled deeply, forcing the tension out of his shoulders. He scanned Vila’s face for a moment, lingering on the lines of laughter about his eyes. “No. It’s all right. Let’s go get your tea.”

 

Vila could see that there was something weighing on Avon even as they walked towards the kitchen side by side. He knew Avon too well to be fooled by the slight smile and the easy conversation, not even fooled by the lack of any physical symptoms – if anything, Avon’s step seemed too light, even considering how well he had been feeling in the morning. Avon had rarely kept things from Vila lately, but when he did he also began hiding his pain – it had become one of his clearest tells. At any rate, Vila had heard the raised voices, but hadn’t been able to understand the words. Without knowing the context he didn’t fancy interfering. For such a long time he had been the only person Avon really talked to – it was all the more necessary now to stay out of Avon’s conversations with other people that were none of his business. Avon wouldn’t appreciate him prying.

Even knowing all that, Vila was reluctant to let the matter slide entirely – what was it that had Avon fighting with his own alter-ego? Had River been upset about Cally? But then, Avon had looked at him so strangely in the corridor, with something shining behind his eyes that Vila hesitated to label – it had seemed, to him, almost like longing, but that was absurd. Wasn’t it?

Be it as it may, Vila was reluctant to destroy the good mood further by not letting the matter go. And so, he dropped it, for now at least, and focussed on making both of them a perfect cup of tea instead. He felt Avon’s gaze lingering on him, and turned, amused. “See something you like?”

Avon, caught off guard, blinked. “What?”

“Don’t worry, I know how you like your tea. You don’t need to keep an eye.”

“I wasn’t.”

“Of course not.”

“Don’t, Vila.”

Vila was surprised by the serious tone in Avon’s voice. Even on the bad days, Avon was easily drawn into banter, even if Vila had to be careful not to cut himself on Avon’s sharp tongue. But today Avon had been in a _good_ mood. “You’ll bite my head of when I ask you what’s going on, won’t you?”

“It isn’t important, Vila.”

“Isn’t it? It was enough to ruin your mood, even though you’re not in pain, and that says something.”

Avon took his cup of tea from Vila’s hands, refusing to look up from it. “I’m always in pain.”

“You know what I meant.”

Avon managed a feeble smile that didn’t fool either of them. “Do I?”

Vila fell heavily into his own chair. “Avon, please. You’re scaring me.” Not even that drew a wry comment.

“It’s nothing, Vila. You needn’t worry.”

“But you were fighting with River.”

“Yes.”

“And you are not going to tell me why.”

“I’d rather not.”

“All right.”

Avon’s gaze flickered up to Vila’s for just a second. “Is it?”

“Do you want me to force you to tell me? I'm not the Federation, Avon!”

“No. Of course not. I’m... sorry, Vila, I...”

“You know what? I meant to tell you yesterday, but we were both half asleep.” Vila reached out and laid his hand softly on Avon’s wrist where it rested against the table. “You never added to my cost, either.”

Avon was deadly silent for a long moment, completely frozen, then looked up and met Vila’s gaze. He hadn’t pulled back his hand. “Vila...”

“The tea is getting cold.”

Avon grinned suddenly, the mischievous, roguish grin that warmed Vila’s heart for its rarity. “Let it.”

“No! It’s not processed, you know – not fully, not like back home. That was proper work – _my_ work. You better drink it!”

Avon’s eyes gleamed, and he finally drew his hand back to take a sip for the cup. “I wonder what the cabinet would think about their Chancellor’s definition of _work_.”

“Eh, they don’t care about my definition. Only thing they care about is what ends up in legislation.”

“And you, magnanimous as you are, were of course never tempted to turn you preferences into law.”

“Just because the work I like doing isn’t socially acceptable doesn’t mean other people don’t like the work I hate doing.”

Avon chuckled, a sound so light that it gave Vila pause. “How very profound, Vila.”

Vila smirked, and nibbled at one of the sweetened protein cubes that served for breakfast – this _Liberator_ had only just come out of the War, after all; supplies were sparse. “Perhaps I’m becoming wise in my old age.”

Avon looked for a moment as though two comments were warring for dominance on his tongue, but Vila never got to hear which would have won, as Cally chose that moment to walk in.

“Vila, Avon, good morning.”

Vila smiled his most brilliant smile at her. “Cally! Come to join us?”

“As a matter of fact I wanted a word with Avon – if you don’t mind, Vila?”

Vila had expected that, of course. He glanced over at Avon, and Avon gave a slight nod. “Not at all.” Vila gathered up his tea and scrambled to his feet. “See you both later, eh?”

Cally squeezed his arm as he walked past, but it was Avon’s soft _of course_ that put a spring in Vila’s step all the way to the flight deck.

 

“He cares about you very much,” Cally said, settling down in the chair Vila had just vacated.

Avon forced himself to look up from the tea in his cup and meet the achingly familiar perceptive and level gaze. “We have been together for a long time.” Sometimes, it was difficult to remember a time when Vila had not been by his side, even though logically Avon knew that he had spent more years of his life before meeting Vila than since.

“Of course. You have been through much together.”

“I don’t care to be analysed, Cally,” he said, and immediately wished he had held his tongue, because Cally’s gaze softened. Oh, he had forgotten. Had actually forgotten, because River was different, because River was _him,_ that when other people looked at him, them, at Vila and him, they saw men who had been broken, who were only just holding themselves together. It was even worse with the people who knew them from before, not that there were many of those left, because they weren’t even slightly fooled by the façade both Vila and him had become so good at putting on. Avon had been barely conscious when they had first got back in touch with Del Grant, but even so the pity had been a palpable tang in the air between them for weeks after Avon had come back to himself. Strangely, it had got even worse when Avon exploded and told him about Anna – but at least Del’s emotions burned as quickly as they burned fiercely, and he learned to rein it in before Avon or Vila’s patience wore out. Most people who met them now met them in their official capacity and knew better than to speculate, better than to ask and pity. It wasn’t that either of them had made a particular point of discouraging it – certainly Vila hadn’t set up any official protocols – but with Blake elevated to near sainthood in absentia, some reference remained for the last two members of his crew even where the reality of them as human beings fell far short of the stories painting them as heroes.

Blake’s arrival had driven the pity home, of course, but Cally’s gaze was worse. Blake’s death… Blake’s death had been a horrid misunderstanding, and while the guilt had never faded, at least Avon had come to terms with the fact that he had not had it in him to act any differently under the circumstances, no matter how much he wished it hadn’t been so. But Cally… Cally had died on his watch, had died for nothing at all, and only because he hadn’t dared to pause and think because after a year in which nearly everything had gone wrong there was a real chance that he would find Blake and give the whole bloody mess back to him… Not only had it cost them the _Liberator_ , and without even taking Servalan with it, but Cally had died a useless death on a dreary, abandoned world. Died, on one last call of _Blake!_

Avon almost wished she would talk to him telepathically again, just so he could let the memory of that agonised mental cry fade, but anything she might say to him she would also be saying to River, and even if he would have accepted the headache, _that_ was really unacceptable.

Did she know – this Cally, did she know her alter ego had died, through no fault but Avon’s, that she hadn’t gone out in a blaze of glory with companions for her death as she had always wanted, but died alone, and not in silence only because of the roar of the explosion that had killed her and her own scream?

Avon tore his gaze away. “What would you have me say?”

“Nothing at all, if you don’t wish to, Avon.”

“I don’t suppose you have found a way to tell us apart yet.”

Cally took one of the breakfast cubes between deceptively delicate fingers. “I can tell you apart, Avon – how could I not?”

Avon’s lips twisted into a cynical smile, gaze drifting to his cane. He disliked the term – preferred _walking stick_ ; it wasn’t as though he ever needed a reminder that it was a medical necessity, a walking aid, not a fashion statement – but in bitter moments as these, he forced himself to use the unpleasant term to reflect the equally unpleasant reality. “How, indeed.”

Cally, of course, had seen his gaze. “Not that. I can sense the difference. You know I could sense the difference even just after you brought me up in the teleport. But when I address you mentally, I don’t seem to be able to direct my attempt to contact you accurately enough. I am sure we could work something out if we experimented, but as it causes both of you such intense pain–”

“Yes, very considerate of you. And of course you feel closer to _him_ , being from the same universe.” If he hadn’t been so angry at River, he might not have said it, but it was worth seeing the surprise in Cally’s face at the statement.

“That isn’t true. I wish to get to know you better, Avon.”

“You _know_ me. I’m not that different, believe me. Just a few years older and more foolish.”

Cally tilted her head in that way she had. “You were never a fool.”

“Wasn’t I?” Avon stared into the remainder of his tea at the bottom of the cup. “It’s all right, Cally. I understand why you prefer him. I would. Vila does.”

“That isn’t true. Avon, you know that isn’t true!”

There was a bitter taste in his mouth, and Avon swallowed, willing it away unsuccessfully. “Have you talked to him?”

“Vila? No, but…”

“Then how would you know? After all, he isn’t _your_ Vila.”

Cally shook her head. “Why have you become cruel, Avon?”

“Cruel?” He nearly choked on the word.

“Yes. My people have a saying–”

“Of course they do.”

“– no one choses pain. But cruelty born from pain is a choice.”

Silence fell.

Unable to avoid Cally’s gaze for much longer while he remained seated at the table, Avon pushed himself to his feet, wincing at the stab of… pain in his knee, and took his empty cup over to the counter. “I’m sorry, Cally.” He wasn’t sure which of them he apologised to – the one in his universe, so long lost, or the one sitting at the table behind him whom he had tried his best to hurt, despite himself.

“Yes,” Cally said. “I know.”

“I once told you – the other you: _Regret is part of being alive. But keep it a small part._ Even back then I knew I was failing my own rule. She knew it, too.”

“She still appreciates hearing it.”

Avon set the cup down, knowing that, alien though she might be, Cally had a perfect command of their language, and had not mistaken her tenses. “I had almost forgotten about Auron. I _am_ sorry, Cally. Pylene 50 is…”

“A nightmare?”

“Yes, you could say that.”

“Is there anything that can be done against it?”

Avon turned, absurdly finding it easier to talk about that and face her than anything else. “There’s an inoculation that is easy enough to replicate in small quantities, but it will do those already affected little good. Besides, producing it in large quantities requires equipment and raw material that are much harder to come by.” Avon smiled wryly, remembering his own ill-fated attempt. “Though Blake might just manage it.”

“Is there no antidote?”

“Technically, the inoculation is the antitoxin – but it has proven ineffective once the drug has been given to the victims for a long period of time or in high doses, though it is infallible as immunisation. It will be too late for Auron, even if we manage to produce it. I’m sorry.”

Cally gently shook her head. “You needn’t blame yourself for things that aren’t your fault.”

“I’ve seen too many planets succumb to Pylene 50 – it is not a pleasant end to a civilisation. We thought of publishing the antitoxin, but the risk that the Federation would obtain the formula and work to counteract it was too high. After the alliance fell through…” But by then, it had been too late. Only days later, Avon had fallen on Gauda Prime and nearly everyone he’d known had been dead before his knees hit the ground. By the time they had escaped the Federation, the Pylene 50 programme had been terminated, on the grounds that totally submissive slave labourers could not maintain and control the Federation’s complex infrastructure, and the higher grades, who had been spared the drug, began refusing collaborations as they saw what became of the general population. In the end, Pylene 50 had become a greater incentive for rebellion than could be balanced out by its effectiveness in population control. It would run the same course in this universe eventually if they didn’t act now, but until then – until then, many people and civilisations would die.

Cally’s voice pulled him from his thoughts. “You have the formula for the antitoxin?”

“I think I can remember it, yes.”

She rose to her feet – Cally never _jumped_ to her feet, but for her, it practically was that, now. “Then there is no time to be lost! I will speak to Blake – we need to change course.”

“Cally–”

“You said it yourself! We can inoculate whole planets, if only we act now!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Friendly reminder that, as this is getting more exciting and my RL schedule more chaotic, comments help me to remember to update (and no, I don't mean a comment that only says "please update" ;)).


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, I managed to get this update up a day earlier than I thought! ;) 
> 
> But I might just leave you for a little longer with this chapter, and update next around the 24th. That'll give all of you time to get caught up, and me to get on with the editing, which has stalled a little in the last weeks. Plus, it seems a fitting place to take a little break. ;)

When they talk about space travel – when Avon and Vila talked about what they had done, first alongside Blake and then without him – they never mentioned the long periods of nothing at all. The periods of travel under the vague threat of pursuit ships in which nothing happened, in which there was nothing to _do_. Oh, they had always found some way to occupy themselves, but despite it all, the atmosphere on their _Liberator_ had never been quite as strange as this. This universe’s people were all too happy to work together and try to execute Cally’s plan to save the universe, of course – and it wasn’t that Vila was against the plan, as such, but it derailed their way home for days, possibly weeks, possibly months. He didn’t even dare think it might be years.

All the while, a feeling crawled over him that he had almost forgotten, the constant tension of keeping alert on a ship in deep space that could be shot at any moment, that offered only the illusion of peace and quiet. The boredom didn’t help, nor did the worry about everything back home. At this rate, if they were unlucky, and when had they ever not been, there wouldn’t be anything left to return to when they did. Vila was only glad that there weren’t really any people left he’d miss. Avon he would have missed, but Avon was here with him, and other than Del Grant he considered none of his cabinet members and officials a personal friend. Besides, even Grant had always been slightly dismissive of Vila, and certainly far more familiar with Avon.

Vila could tell that the tension was getting to Avon, too. They were often together, though Avon had by now claimed one of the empty cabins as a retreat, and while the pain in his knee seemed to be under control now that the swelling was going down, Avon’s mood had gone downhill. He was often tired, taciturn, and would frequently excuse himself to be alone. Vila recognised the mood, of course, but the Avon of old would have gone to work on the ship, figure out the computers, the teleport, or even just stroll through the holds and open storage crates at random. Now, Avon was avoiding River, and thus not doing any of those things. Vila had asked him one day over dinner whether they had figured out how to jump back to their universe yet – Avon had said _no_ in such a sharp tone that Vila dropped the subject.

Vila was also finding it difficult to live again in such close and confined quarters. When he’d first been on the _Liberator_ , the ship had been an incredible improvement to the Delta sections in the domes and the prisons – both the transport ships and the cells on Earth. It was spacious enough so one could get lost for hours, and yet there was friendly enough company waiting when he got back. Now, though the space hadn’t changed and the company was still pleasant enough, he found himself feeling trapped. There was nowhere to go except prowl the ship, and he had no control over where the ship was heading. It wasn’t that he disagreed with what they were doing – just that he had got used to the freedom of being the Chancellor. Despite the political and civic obligations, he could have fun when he wasn’t working, could sneak out and go see Avon in the evenings. He might not be able to go to the local bar without escort, but if he fancied a diplomatic trip out to Star City, no one would stop him. Besides, just the gardens back on Earth were enough to while away hours of his time. There was none of that on the _Liberator_ , and this time, it reminded him of the solitary hell of imprisonment after Gauda Prime, which was much, much worse than everything that had happened to him before coming onto the _Liberator_ for the first time.

“I’m going stir-crazy,” he remarked to no one in particular while sitting on the flight deck shuffling his cards for the hundredth time. No one reacted. Avon – neither Avon was there, and for some reason Cally and Blake always seemed to have something to do. “I said I’m going stir-crazy.”

“We heard you the first time, Vila,” Blake grumbled, not even looking up from his console where he was reading, had been reading for hours now.

“What are you going to do about it, then?”

“Oh, Vila. Find something to do.” Cally, of course, always sounded so perfectly reasonable.

“There isn’t anything!”

“Why don’t you go find Avon and play chess?”

“That’s _all_ we’ve been doing!”

“If the Federation accelerates the use of Pylene 50–”

“Yes, we’re saving the universe, I know.”

“Vila, please.”

Vila jumped to his feet. “It’s all very well for you to say that! It’s _your_ universe we’re saving! You don’t even care what happens to ours while we’re gone, do you? You don’t even care that we have done all this already, that we could be losing our _home_ while you drag us across _your_ universe against our will!”

Blake glanced up, his face stormy. “Do you want people to _die_ , Vila?”

“No, but–”

The intraship communication and Avon’s voice interrupted him. “Flight deck.”

Blake, standing at the pilot console, opened the comm link. “Go ahead, Avon.”

“Is Vila still up there? I’m in Auxiliary 2 and could use someone with more flexibility down here.”

“He’s still here, Avon. Well, Vila?”

“All right, I’m going.” At least giving Avon – and it had been _Avon_ – a hand was _something_ to do.

 

When he walked through the door of Auxiliary 2, Vila instantly disliked the room. It was tiny, smaller even than their Federation cell. Computer banks ran all along the walls and made the air musky and warm. Instead of the open access hatch Vila had expected, he found Avon sitting on a small footstool, a pillow the only concession to his knee. He was working on something on a small folding table under the illumination of a portable light. The bits and pieces looked vaguely familiar.

“What are you doing down here if you’re not working on the computers?!”

“I didn’t want River to walk in on me,” Avon said simply, setting down the component on the table to look up at Vila. “There’s a second pillow in the hatch to your right.”

Vila fetched himself the pillow and settled down opposite. “What do you need me for, then?”

Avon grinned briefly. “Your exhilarating company, of course.”

“Very funny.” Vila scanned the items on the small table. “This looks familiar.”

“Teleport implants.”

“Right! What for?”

“Our own will be breaking down in our bodies by now and I’d like the backup.”

“You’re not going to give it to Blake?”

“Not yet.”

“Isn’t he going to get suspicious if you spend time down here and nothing changes on the computers?”

“No. As far as he’s concerned, I’m studying the systems I never got around to while we had the _Liberator_ , which–”

“– is also the reason River isn’t going to walk in on us.”

Avon grinned again, but it was devoid of genuine humour. “Precisely.”

“So what do you really need me for?”

Avon laid down his laser probe and passed Vila a teleport bracelet that had been sitting on the floor beside him. “I need to extract the reactive component from these because I don’t have a lot of raw material to work with.”

“Without anyone noticing.”

“Yes.”

“So I’m just here to hold the bracelet for you?” Vila wanted to be insulted, but couldn’t quite bring himself to make the effort.

“That, and to be there if the thing blows up in my face.”

“What?!”

“Don’t worry. I _have_ taken them apart before. Anything inside the ring of the bracelet is protected anyway. Just slip it onto your wrist and hold still.”

Once, Vila would have protested, but by now he knew exactly how far to trust Avon. Blowing Vila up along with the bracelet was hardly in his interest now. He slipped the bracelet on, scooted to the side of the table, and rested his elbow on a clear spot of its work surface for stability.

Avon picked up his probe again and cut a delicate line near the bracelet’s activation mechanism, lifting off the sliding cover. Vila liked watching Avon work – he hadn’t really had much opportunity lately. During the day, he was kept busy in the cabinet, and by evening, Avon had stopped his experiments and was mostly too tired to do more than eat, chat and doze.

“Avon?”

Avon glanced up for a moment from where he was freeing the small container of reactive component from its mounting. “Hm?”

“Could you take over the computers?”

“Of course.”

“Will you?”

“No.”

“Why not?!”

“Sit _still_ , Vila!”

Vila froze, and Avon lifted the component out with a delicate set of pincers, setting it down on the table. “You can take the bracelet off now.”

Vila slipped the dismantled bracelet off, letting it clatter down onto the table. “Everything could be falling apart back home! When did you become an ardent follower of Blake’s?”

“I didn’t.” Avon leant back against the computer bank in his back and rubbed at his thigh muscle. “But our being here has given Blake the knowledge to be able to stop Pylene 50 in its tracks. It might run its cause eventually without our intervention, yes, but don’t you think it would be good to do it before billions die because of it?”

“Do you really believe Blake can fix it?”

“Don’t you?”

“Not anymore. We did it without him.”

“Eventually.”

“Which is more than Blake can say.”

Avon smiled. “Yes, I suppose so. Probably I always believed Blake could… fix it. After the alliance with Zukan had failed, I had hoped…” Avon cut himself off and stared up at the ceiling, plainly avoiding Vila’s gaze.

“You think he just didn’t get the chance because you killed him?” Vila asked quietly, recognising the shaking ground the conversation had let them on.

“I don’t know. I don’t know what I think. Only that now Blake is in a unique position to make a difference, and knowing his gormless luck he might actually manage to pull it off. And I can’t stand in his way. Not when this might actually be a sensible, effective and bloodless plan.”

“What if it makes things worse?”

“Not doing anything won’t make them better.” Avon grinned wryly. “Perhaps by the time we know how it turns out we’ll be back in our universe.”

 

The teleportation implants managed to occupy Avon for nearly two days. Afterwards, he was forced to yield to the demands of his body and rest while they continued to travel aimlessly through space, attempting to make contact with the scattered rebel forces. Avon’s knee was still only radiating its ordinary ache, thankfully, but if he kept it up, he would pay for it sooner rather than later. Unfortunately, that meant he drifted back onto the flight deck to read and doze, uncomfortable in the cabin that wasn’t his even though he had gone down to the storage holds with Vila to find some comfort items. At least when he feigned sleep the others left him alone. River was avoiding him as much as Avon was avoiding River, Blake was still unsure of his physical ability – or disability – and Cally knew to respect his boundaries. They were all on the flight deck now, River standing watch, but they had taken to ignoring Avon where he had set up a reclining chair in a slightly dimmer corner near Zen’s secondary processing relay.

Speaking to Vila had sparked doubts in Avon’s mind – doubts whether he should be using what he knew to make changes in this universe in the first place. He had been so caught up in the fact that it was a different universe that he had hardly considered that they were also years behind their own universe. Time travel, of a sort, though Avon was sure that it had been caused by a misaligned between the two universes rather than an actual journey back in time – not that it made a difference; what they were experiencing was hardly well researched ground. And time travel, well… But he couldn’t afford to think about it. They were already on their way to try stopping the pacification drug, and Avon could not withhold the antitoxin formula now. Perhaps if it had occurred to him not to mention it in the first place, but there was no use in dwelling on it now. Instead, Avon was entertaining the thought of seeing whether Blake still had the dysfunctional components of Orac and trying to fix it on the way – or perhaps to facilitate making contact with the rebel forces. Blake only seemed to have the vaguest idea how to find them after the upheaval caused by the war. River, Avon thought, might be spending his time reacquainting himself with Zen, uneasy with the fact that Avon had over a year’s experience with the system ahead of him, and hadn’t yet asked about Orac, as far as Avon was aware. Of course not – no one in their right mind would assume that Blake had kept the parts and not mentioned it, but then Avon had always known that Blake wasn’t always in his right mind, and by now neither was Avon. He smiled wryly at the thought, but opened his eyes only at the sound of Vila’s laughter.

Vila had, in his boredom, unearthed his old magical tricks, and had convinced Cally and Blake to attend a “show”. They were grouped around the sofa, Vila standing in front and with his back to Avon, and River was watching idly from his station.

Back on their _Liberator_ , Avon had often watched from the same position, enjoying both the release of tension and figuring out the techniques behind the tricks. The fact that he secretly enjoyed it when he _couldn’t_ had remained a well-guarded secret. As had the fact that, at some point, he had started to enjoy watching just to see Vila grin and laugh and let go. Over the years, the magic had been a coping mechanism, a distraction – there were a hundred magic tricks even if all you had for props was a small ball of lint. Avon had the suspicion that Vila had always used his sleights of hand to cope; only Avon had never been around when he did it before the Federation had thrown them into the same cell. But this – this was Vila at his most at ease, emerged in a performance he genuinely loved.

Vila was making a credit appear and vanish, drawing a smile of amusement from Blake and astonishment from Cally. “Where did it go?” Vila asked with exaggerated showmanship, beaming as he opened a hand, again, to an empty palm.

“Into your pocket, Vila,” River said suddenly, pretending to not even have looked up from his console.

“Shut up, Avon,” Vila said blithely and leaned forward. “No, it hasn’t – see?” And he pulled up the coin from behind Cally’s ear.

Avon barely heard the final words, a sudden roaring sound in his head. He felt ill. He found that he had made his way out into the corridor before he knew what he was doing, and even then he didn’t stop walking. Not even when he registered Vila faintly calling after him: “Avon!”

It was either tact or hesitation that led to Vila only catching up with him when he was standing in front of his cabin – only that it wasn’t _his_ cabin. Frustrated, Avon slammed his palm against the wall by the door control and remained there, stinging hand still resting on the cool metal.

“Avon?” Vila sounded so tentative that some of the tension drained out of Avon despite himself. This – this was how Vila had sounded in prison, when he hadn’t been sure whether Avon was there, was sane, whether he might lash out and hurt or kill him. Most of the time, Avon hadn’t been able to respond, but he had still heard him, an anchor to the reality that kept slipping from his grasp.

“Leave me alone,” he told Vila now, enough lucid words to indicate that it wasn’t as bad as that.

“Do you mean that or are just saying it?”

“Do _you_ want to stay here?”

“Eh? Avon…”

Avon grimaced. “Once we find a way to get back, _if_ we find a way to get back before Blake gets us killed, _do you want to stay here_?”

“Why should I want to? It’ll get me killed!”

“I’m not joking, Vila.”

“Neither am I!” Vila stepped right up to his side but didn’t touch him. “Do you want to get rid of me so badly that you’d abandon me in another universe?!”

“ _I_ don’t want to get rid of _you_!”

Vila looked at him for a long time in absolute silence until Avon was forced to avert his gaze. He turned, limping across the corridor to his actual cabin. The silence spoke eloquently enough.

“Avon, wait.”

Avon keyed in the code to the cabin and stepped inside, but he couldn’t bring himself to slam it in Vila’s face. He leaned the walking stick against the wall and sank down on the bed. Vila carefully edged his way inside behind him.

Suddenly very tired, Avon rubbed a hand over his face. “Close the door, will you?”

Vila did as he had asked, then stood next to it in silence. Silence, from Vila, was unnerving.

“Well?”

Vila shook his head.

“Have I finally managed to shut you up?” Avon said, but the quip had never rung so hollow.

When Vila answered, his voice was slow and sad. “When I asked you whether you could control the computer, did you think I wanted us to get back just so we could drop you off?”

“No. I apologise, Vila.” Avon plucked at a loose thread in the seam of the blanket he was sitting on. “I didn’t quite mean what I said. It was… an overreaction.”

Vila sighed and pulled up a chair to sit down. “That’s a word for it.”

Avon smiled faintly. “It’s a euphemism at any rate.”

“And what’s that when it’s at home?”

Avon looked up to see a small answering smile tug at the corners of Vila’s mouth. Vila knew, of course, his vocabulary always more impressive than he liked to let on.

“Isn’t this usually the point where we are interrupted?” Avon asked, keeping his voice lighter than he felt. “No pursuit ships on the sensors?”

“Not this time. Your detector shield still hasn’t broken down, and we’re staying away from everything.” Vila swung up his feet to the edge of the bed, adopting a pose that was deceptively relaxed. He let a credit chip dance through his fingers. “What brought it on, Avon?”

“You called _him_ that.”

“There is a slight resemblance between you and River.”

“Yes. And there is a slight resemblance between you and _his_ Vila.”

“I should hope so. There isn’t anything to improve, is there?” The credit stilled. “Though I suppose he can’t be that good looking anymore now that he’s dead. But seriously, what would you improve upon this?” He gestured vaguely along the length of his body, and the credit spun again.

“I’m sure I could think of a thing or two.”

Vila leant forward. “Oh yeh? Looking to replace me, then?”

“One of you is quite enough.”

The credit dropped into Vila’s palm, lying still. “Didn’t say you’d get to keep both. Make a swap?”

“No. Never.”

“And why is that?”

Distantly, Avon could admire the trap he had fallen into, the skilfully woven net of words and light jokes that Vila worked with expert skill. That had always lured him in, even when he had been irritated at the thief beyond belief, even when he had been feeling miserable. Most of the time, he was sure that Vila did it on purpose. Now, he wondered whether Vila knew, whether he had guessed what Avon had been thinking. Whether all their interactions in the last days had led up to this, or whether Vila, for once, was a guileless as he appeared.

Presently, the words stuck in Avon’s throat. He climbed to his feet, but there was nowhere he wanted to go. In the end, he sat back down, staring at his hands so he didn’t have to look at Vila’s.

“Vila,” he said at last, the name echoing in the silence, “you better leave before I say something we will both regret.”

“Are you sure?”

“Instinctively, yes – but then my instincts were never very reliable.” And just what had possessed him to add that? If he had told Vila to leave now, in no uncertain terms, if he had threatened… Vila would have gone – a way out, the only way out, and Avon had brought an avalanche down to block it off all on his own, never mind what Vila had intended. If Vila had planned this, then he knew anyway – and if he hadn’t, Avon had just made it impossible not to tell him.

“I’d like to stay, Avon,” Vila said.

“In this universe?” Grasping at straws.

“No. Where you are.”

“Vila, you don’t want to hear this.”

“Years ago, in a Federation prison cell, you told me you were scared.”

Avon passed a hand over his face again, finding his eyes wetter than they should have been. There was a heavy weight in his throat. “Yes.”

“I didn’t want to hear that, either. But I’m glad you said it.”

“You were glad I was saying anything at all.”

“Yeh. But of all the things you said, that is the one I remember.”

And that was it. All venues of avoidance gone, Avon swallowed. If only he hadn’t overreacted. If only River hadn’t been alive. If only Blake had never appeared on their doorstep. But it was unfair to blame this, too, on Blake. If only things could continue to be as they had been. If only.

It wasn’t that it was such a terrible thing. It wasn’t even much of a secret. Avon had never known how much he had let on in that cell, and lately he hadn’t much cared to really hide it anymore. And still, Avon hadn’t intended to voice it in his lifetime. He had liked what they had, despite it all. He had wanted to leave to make _Vila_ happy – happier – not because he had thought it would do himself any good. But Vila hadn’t wanted him to leave, and Avon had thought that, perhaps, it would be all right. And now… He didn’t know anymore what to make of fate, but experience had taught him that this was the crossroads, and afterwards it could only go badly.

Swallowing, he said: “I love you.”

His voice sounded incongruously certain, even and steady. It felt as though it should have come out as a whisper; instead, it had sounded as though someone else had said it – certainly it couldn’t have been him, not with the turmoil churning in his gut. He wasn’t that good an actor. He couldn’t even look up.

Vila sat very still. Avon was more aware of Vila’s body than his own, and when it came he sensed the exhaled, tiny “Oh” more than he heard it. And then Vila was clambering to his feet and made a dash for the door.

Avon collapsed onto his side on the bed, curling up as small as he could. For once, he didn’t care about the pain in his knee.


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And we're (hopefully) back to weekly updates! Enjoy!

When Vila came back to himself, he was in his room, one shaking hand clasped tightly around a soma bottle, the other around a glass. They clanked together as he poured, the liquid flowing sluggishly from bottle to glass. His heart was still pounding, his thoughts a jumbled mess. He drank the glass in large gulps, immediately feeling the familiar calming buzz of the drink fizzing through his limbs and laying a muzzy, soothing blanket over his thoughts. It was affecting him more than it used to – he hadn’t had a lot to drink in ages, and it had rarely been pure soma. He filled another glass and flopped down on the bed, glad that Avon wasn’t next door, not now.

Vila drank, and his mind wandered.

Back to the days after they had just got free. When everything had been too much. When just dealing with other human beings had exhausted them both more than the Federation torture had by then. When they had separated him from Avon, and that had hurt so much he worked himself into a panic – one of many. When they had only reunited them after Avon, after breaking and breaking and breaking under their questions – worse, so much worse than the torture they had become accustomed to – had finally shut down. Vila hadn’t thought he’d get Avon to come back, then. Not when he’d found that Avon was still crying, his diaphragm spasming under toneless sobs when Vila got to him. Avon had never cried while he had been _away_ before – the crying had been a sign he was back, before.

Vila knew what they had asked him, of course. The same questions they had asked Vila: _What happened on Gauda Prime? What happened to the rest of the crew? What happened to Blake? Why did you kill Blake? What did you tell the Federation?_ They were all sensible questions, Vila supposed – questions he had known they would need to answer if they ever got out and ended up with the rebellion. They should have been glad, he supposed, that they hadn’t thrown Avon into a different cell to rot. But after everything that had happened, after _months and months_ of no social contact, no change of scenery except to go to the torture chamber – just as non-descript as their cell – and whatever their minds were made to conjure up, _everything_ had been too much.

The new physical distance between him and Avon had terrified Vila. Even though he had known, intellectually, that the rebellion couldn’t be as bad as the Federation had been, not if Del Grant was with them, that had been when his panic attacks had really begun. The uncertainty had been too painful. The guilt. Vila had never liked to be alone, but all the strangers had terrified him. But nothing had been as horrifying as the thoughts of Avon. The thought that Vila wouldn’t be allowed to see Avon again. The thought that Avon had been taken away to be executed. The thought that Avon had broken, irrevocably, not under Federation torture, but after being freed. The terror and bitter irony of that freedom, of not knowing what to do with it.

Having Avon back with him had helped, but only for as long as Vila didn’t think of the state Avon was in – for a long while, Avon had remained _away_ , and finally they had to give him a relaxant because his strange crying fits wouldn’t stop and the strain they put on his muscles had been growing worrying, messing up his breathing. Vila had panicked at that, too, finding the sedated Avon too still. It was only when someone had handed Vila a set of tools and a lock that he had regained some level of control, simply by proving himself that, at least, Vila Restal was still there. Over the days, he must have opened and locked that lock a billion times. It didn’t take him long, after all.

He hadn’t wanted to drink, then, because of Avon, and because it made the panic attacks worse. But mainly because he had needed to be awake and aware while Avon wasn’t. It had taken a long time for Vila to accept that there were other people that could look out for them, now. It had been almost a week before Avon had come back, and by then he’d been nearly incoherent with the pain from his knee, so long without proper exercise and so damaged that nothing could be done – not with the medical supplies the rebels had at their disposal, and then not with all the medical facilities that the Chancellor had access to, and now not with the _Liberator_.

That Avon had also been intensely insomniac, semi-verbal, torn apart by guilt whenever the subject of Blake had come up, and even more so when they’d started to learn what had happened in the universe in their absence. The enforced immobility had made things worse, but with time, at least, Vila had found that he needn’t always be there, found that he could hide the panic attacks – not as well as he thought he had, evidently, but being able to try had meant something. Had meant that there was a chance he could be around Avon by choice, not by conditioned need. The Federation might not have been able to readjust his mind with their machines and drugs, but the loneliness had done some of it. When the day had come on which Vila had roamed around the base, had eaten with Grant in the communal area and had worked on a security system without once needing to see Avon, and especially when he had found Avon at dinner not worse for wear, Vila had known that they could stay together by choice, and they had.

The thought of parting didn’t fill Vila with the same dread now as it had back then – he didn’t like the idea, didn’t want to be alone, but he _could_ be without panicking. Still, he had _liked_ them staying together. Had liked them being together, working together. Had liked the relationship that had resembled the one they had had on the _Liberator_ , only somehow deeper. He hadn’t needed to investigate what he felt for Avon. What they had was good. Until Avon had started talking of leaving. Until Blake had blundered back into their lives. Until there was a second Avon, and a resurrected Cally, and a universe that had barely tasted the horrors of Pylene 50. Until Avon had said something he had told Vila he didn’t want to hear. And Avon had been wrong and had been right at the same time.

Vila drained his glass and curled into a ball, sleeping away all the good parts of being drunk. 

 

Vila came awake just over two hours later, a vague non-headache pressing on his skull. His eyes felt grimy, though he couldn’t remember crying. He splashed his face in the bathroom and changed into fresh clothes, which made him feel slightly better. He felt better yet after he had a fresh fortifying drink. He let the last swallow roll around his mouth, focussing on the taste instead of what he needed to do.

Putting the glass down, he headed for the flight deck.

Avon was there, of course, standing at his own station in the absence of River. Blake was on watch, but there was no conversation between them. It was normal; Blake and Avon weren’t generally chatty when they shared the watch. Blake was occupied with reading something on the sofa, his back to Avon, and Avon was doing something at his console. It wasn’t an unusual scene, as if the universe hadn’t noticed the sea change that had happened mere hours before.

Avon had changed since Vila had last seen him, too, had probably even showered, though his hair was slightly disordered. He was wearing black.

That alone let Vila stumble as surely as if someone had thrown a log between his feet. Avon rarely chose to wear black anymore, and Vila didn’t fool himself into thinking that it wasn’t a deliberate choice now – even if this was a simple shirt, fastened with a sash across his waist rather than the heavy studded garments Avon had preferred before Gauda Prime. Vila hadn’t seen him add the shirt to the selection when they had been down in the storage to find clothes that weren’t already River’s – but he must have. Vila stared, clinging to the chair of his own station across the flight deck, trying to get his legs back under him. Trying to work out what Avon was thinking. He had given no indication that he had seen Vila come in.

“Vila? Are you all right?” It was Blake who asked, of course.

Vila straightened hastily. “Uh. Yeah.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yeah. Just tripped, is all.”

There should have been a scathing remark from Avon at that, or at least a gently teasing remark. Vila would have taken either, but Avon remained silent. He hadn’t even looked up. His right hand was typing on the console.

“Avon?” asked Vila, and hated how faint his voice sounded.

Avon glanced up finally, regarding him with an arched eyebrow and Vila knew immediately. Avon wasn’t looking _at_ him – he was looking towards Vila, but he might as well have been looking at a stranger. Impenetrable shutters had fallen down behind his eyes, his expression was blank and cold. And the worst thing? The worst thing was that Vila knew that Avon knew that Vila knew that it was all a façade so well designed to hide the despairing pain and loneliness behind it. It had never fooled Vila, and Avon knew that, but that Avon had chosen to hide anyway turned Vila’s stomach. He stared at the pale face and dark eyes, words stuck like a stone in his throat.

_Is this it?_

The thought chased about his head like a rodent looking for a way out, scratching at Vila’s sanity.

“Did you want anything, Vila?” Avon asked. His voice was bland and blank and coldly dismissive. He was still holding Vila’s gaze – the unnatural stare burning cold in Vila’s heart.

What could he say to that?

Vila tore his gaze away. “I was going to get coffee. Want any?”

“No,” Avon said simply, the single word like the crack of a whip.

Vila bit his lip to keep his voice from shattering. “Blake?”

“Not at the moment, Vila, thank you,” Blake mumbled distractedly – attention completely caught by his reading.

Vila fled the flight deck.

 

Cally found him in the kitchen.

He was sitting on the floor with his knees drawn up and his back wedged into a corner, rocking slightly and crying. He couldn’t seem to stop. He had wanted to go to his cabin, but he only made it so far before the ground had grumbled under his feet. Vila thought he might have had another panic attack somewhere in the emotional mess, but he felt too drained to analyse it. The tears had stopped by now, but he was still sobbing dryly. His stomach and head and heart hurt.

“Vila! What happened!?” Cally crouched down by his side, laying a gentle hand on his shoulder. _Oh, Vila_. She slid her arm around him and Vila let himself be pulled into an awkward embrace, burying his face in her shoulder.

“I’ll get snot all over you,” he managed, hiccoughing.

“It’s only clothes, Vila.” _What has Avon done?_

Vila pushed her away, scrambling back until the wall checked his retreat. “It’s not like that! It’s my fault!”

“Oh Vila, there is no need to protect him.”

“I’m not!” Vila stumbled to his feet, anger giving him strength. “It was my fault! I gave him no choice and I hurt him and now everything is ruined!”

“Vila,” she said, and again in his mind, so gently, so understanding, _Vila._

“You mustn’t pity me, Cally! It’s my _fault_!” 

“What _is_ going on?” a cold voice suddenly enquired from the doorway, and Vila choked on a wail. River was standing in the door.

“Avon, I don’t think you should be here right now,” Cally said.

Unexpectedly, River’s face immediately darkened with thunderous rage. Vila shrank instinctively away, terrified by the force of the emotion.

Only then River closed the door behind himself and growled: “What has _he_ done?”

“No!” Vila wiped angrily at the tear tracks on his face. “It’s _my fault_!”

River and Cally traded a glance, and Vila knew immediately that they didn’t believe him. River took a careful step forward. There was still anger glowing in his eyes, but it wasn’t directed at Vila. “I know me, Vila.”

“Not as well as you think! It _was_ my fault!”

River’s face twisted into a bitter grimace, and Cally placed a placating hand on his arm. “Vila, you can trust us.”

“Trust!” Vila almost laughed. “All right, then, I’ll tell you! It was _my fault_ because after so many years I have finally found a way to _betray Avon_!”

The show of emotions on River’s face was truly impressive – speeding from fury to shock to disbelief back to shock and then to that terrible hurt that Vila had only seen twice on Avon’s face. Cally tightened her hand on his arm, but River’s gaze was locked with Vila’s. “Vila,” he said, voice a cracked plea. Vila was abruptly back in that hellhole of sirens and red flashing lights on Gauda Prime, both absurdly glad that River wasn’t armed and almost wishing that he were.

“Leave Avon alone,” Vila said simply, and brushed past River to rush out.

Cally called after him, but Vila ignored her.

 

Avon was cold.

He suspected that it wasn’t entirely caused by the temperature on the flight deck, which was normal – he had checked, twice now. He had the vague feeling that, probably, he would never feel warm again. The thought should have come as more of a surprise – it was familiar; he had had it before, and had been wrong. He didn’t think he was, this time.

“Blake.”

Blake had been entirely occupied by his reading, fascinating enough that he had been absentmindedly nibbling his knuckles and hadn’t looked up in over an hour. Now, he craned his neck to look back at Avon. “Yes?”

“Would you mind lending me your jacket?” Back in the days on the _Liberator_ , Avon would never have asked that of Blake, would rather have walked down to his cabin to fetch one himself and dare anyone to comment, but that was a long time ago. His pride had taken more blows than he could count since then, and right now he just couldn’t be bothered. Blake had always found the _Liberator_ too warm, after all, he wouldn’t miss the garment.

Blake set the reader down and stood to face him properly. “Are you cold?”

“Yes. It happens.”

Blake’s gaze skidded over Avon’s shirt, evaluating, and he shrugged easily out of the sleeves of his jacket. “Are you sure you wouldn’t rather go to your cabin to change? Or I could fetch you a jacket.”

“Yours will do.”

“All right. Here.” Blake passed it over the back of the sofa.

The material was heavy and the coat too large. Avon draped it over his shoulders and left it at that. It was still warm from Blake’s body heat, but that would dissipate sooner rather than later. The chill was coming from his core, after all. “Thanks.”

“Perhaps you shouldn’t be standing at your station all day.”

Avon shot him a weary glance. “You still can’t let the matter of my knee drop, can you.”

“I’m sorry, Avon. I want to help.”

“Yes, well. Even your great bleeding heart has to realise that you can’t save everyone.”

“You aren’t _everyone_.”

“Aren’t I?” Avon felt the false grin stretch his lips. “ _Your_ Kerr Avon is on board this ship, you know.”

“That doesn’t make you any less Avon.”

“No, I suppose not.”

Blake sat back down, twisted so he could keep facing him. “What are you working on?”

Avon sighed and glanced back down to his screens. He hadn’t meant to invite conversation at all, but at least Blake had asked about that and not something else. As obnoxious Blake could be when he chose to be, Avon was grateful that he hadn’t pried now; even though he was sure that Blake saw more than he let on. Avon had always found his ability to get under Avon’s skin uncanny. “I was looking over the formula for the antitoxin.”

“Why?”

“If there were a way to make it more effective, to allow us to cure long-term victims…”

Blake was immediately back on his feet. “It that possible?!”

“That’s what I’m trying to find out.”

“You’re not a pharmacologist.”

Avon almost laughed. “No. Not by choice, anyway.”

“By choice?”

“As they say, necessity is the mother of invention. You know, I was never a hardware expert either.” Avon looked up, and found Blake’s face a picture of surprise. “You didn’t know? Really, Blake?”

Blake looked slightly sheepish. “Well, I assumed you were proficient in both hardware and software.”

Avon shrugged, refusing to be flattered. “Let us just say there was a reason why I had to spend so much time investigating and rewiring the _Liberator_ ’s systems and hardly any at all on Zen’s programming, and it wasn’t only professional interest.”

“I shall keep that in mind.”

“Don’t you dare use it against River. We manage well enough.”

“I was rather considering that I ought to appreciate your work more.”

Avon looked up sharply and scanned Blake’s face for any trace of a lie, but found none. “I see.”

Blake smirked. “Is that all you are going to comment?”

“Would you rather an _I told you so_?”

Now, Blake was laughing. “Oh, no! But I’m keeping you from expanding your expertise to new areas, aren’t I?”

Avon wished he could have smiled at him, but the expression wouldn’t come. He shuddered and pulled the jacket closer. “Yes. Perhaps I should go lie down, after all.”

“Are you all right?”

Avon picked up his stick and lied: “Just tired.” He walked over to his reclining chair, forcing himself not to lean too heavily on the stick even though he wanted to, to keep Blake off his back. He sank down onto the soft padding with a sigh. “Do you want your jacket back now?”

“Keep it. I can get another one when Cally comes to take over the watch.”

Avon nodded and turned his back to him, pulling the jacket over himself like a blanket. He stared at the wall, faintly aware of how uncharacteristic it was for him to expose his back to the room, but the desire to hide his face had won out. In the shadow of Blake’s jacket, he ran a hand over it, and found that he was silently crying again. He hadn’t even noticed this time. He wondered when it might stop.

 

Avon must have dozed after all, as he was only faintly aware of Cally coming to relieve Blake – she didn’t disturb him, but when the curled up position became intolerable and Avon was forced to shift around, he found her watching him. She had talked to Vila, then, or had at least seen him. Avon adjusted the jacket, feeling no warmer for its weight. “Well?”

“How are you, Avon?”

The question took him by surprise, and he answered with an automatic: “Fine.”

Cally’s face was one of gentle sympathy, and it stuck in Avon’s throat like a shard. “If you say so.”

“You aren’t going to argue?”

“You know yourself best, Avon.”

“I don’t think so, but then it hardly matters anymore.”

“Will you tell me what happened?”

“You spoke to Vila. Is there really any need to hear it twice?” Avon sat up, folding Blake’s jacket to drape it over the backrest of the chair, and gingerly examined his knee. There was no heat or excessive swelling that he could feel through the trousers, but it felt undoubtedly tender, and of course it hurt. That he was only dimly aware of it gave him an unpleasant sense of déjà vu.

“It might help to talk about it,” Cally said softly.

“As you talk about the invasion of Auron?”

“There isn’t much to say. We realised too late that the water had become contaminated. Even those that fled with me to the hills quickly succumbed. I was the only survivor.”

“What of your clone sisters – Zelda?”

Cally, who had been coming towards him, stopped abruptly. “You know of Zelda?”

“Yes.”

“Did she survive?”

“No – Auron was decimated before we even lost the _Liberator_. The Federation used germ warfare to kill the entire population.” It had been Servalan’s plan, of course, but Avon couldn’t bring himself to utter the name anymore – he wasn’t sure whether that was part of the Federation’s conditioning attempts that had stuck, or whether the thought simply made him sick all on its own. It didn’t matter – she was dead now. Only perhaps in this universe she wasn’t.

“The replication plant had an independent water supply, and so the Federation moved in,” Cally said. “Zelda was among the first to die. Some of my sibling group might still be alive, but under the influence of Pylene 50, I can no longer feel them. Being cut off from our powers – it’s a fate worse than death. Do you understand now why I need to find the means to distribute the antitoxin?”

“I have always understood, Cally,” Avon said, settling his stick on the floor to climb to his feet. He should be thankful, he supposed, that the _Liberator_ , unlike many Federation installations, did not have grated floors.

“You aren’t going to tell me about it, are you?”

Avon tightened his hand around the stick. “No.”

“Vila said it wasn’t your fault.”

“It isn’t a question of faults, Cally.”

“I find that hard to believe.”

“Yes, you would, wouldn’t you?” Avon smiled mirthlessly. “Just leave Vila alone.”

“He said the same about you.”

Avon turned to face her. “Well, then I expect you to follow my request better than you followed his.” He let the walking stick take some of his weight. “I should look over the log specifications. Once we have dealt with Pylene 50, we should untangle these two universes.”

He left Cally standing on the flight deck.

 

Vila had picked the lock.

It had taken him longer than it should have – it was only the standard _Liberator_ lock after all; Avon hadn’t had time to fit the door with anything else. Vila had picked those a million times, but his hands had shook, and he’d been going slowly, thinking that someone might come by and stop him, convince him that it was a bad idea. Nobody did.

Avon’s cabin didn’t look any different than when Vila had stormed out of it. The blanket on the bed was still grumbled; there was still little else in it but a set of tools and digital multi-purpose device on the table, a pile of clothes haphazardly stacked on a shelf and a collection of variously shaped pillows scattered at the foot of the bed. It didn’t feel much like Avon, but then this was only out of necessity, only what River hadn’t already taken.

Vila sat down on the bed, hugging a pillow to keep himself from running back out, and waited.

By the time he heard Avon at the door, he had picked up the handheld and was distracting himself with one of the mindless games on it, but at the sound he hastily put it down and returned to the bed.

Avon unlocked the door and stepped inside, letting it shut before he leant back against it, closing his eyes. He hadn’t seen Vila there, Vila was sure, or he would never have allowed the fatigue and pain to show.

“Avon,” Vila said softly.

Avon’s eyes snapped open, and he pulled his spine rigid in an instant. “What the hell are you doing in here?”

“I picked the lock.”

“If I were interested in hearing the obvious,” Avon snapped, “I would ask…” He trailed off.

“Me. You’d ask me.”

Avon sank into a chair. “Possibly.”

“Don’t you mean probably?”

“What do you want, Vila?”

The communications grid on the wall came alive, interrupting Vila’s response. He groaned. “Not now!”

Blake’s voice filtered through the grid. “Avon, Vila. We made contact with the rebel groups. I want you on the flight deck.”

Avon stood with a groan, and Vila came to his feet more to be able to give him a hand than because he wanted to come when Blake called. “Do we have to?”

“You can do as you like,” Avon said, ignoring the helping hand, and walked out.

 

Vila trailed miserably after him, not wanting to catch up, not daring to fall in step with him. Instead, he stared at the shift of Avon’s shoulders under his shirt and wished he were brave enough to just say what he had to say, even in public, even in the middle of the flight deck, but he was a coward, after all.

The others were already assembled on the flight deck. River was standing in the front and flicked his gaze briefly to Vila and immediately away again. Blake, of course, was in the pilot station, and Cally had taken up her old place at the communications console. Avon slid wordlessly into his own station, and Vila faltered for a moment before drudging reluctantly across the deck to sit at his own position – the weapons console, not that he expected a fire fight to develop just now. After all, if these were rebels, they were friends, weren’t they?

“All right, Cally. Zen, open the channel,” Blake said, and looked at the view screen, as if that were showing his contact – it wasn’t; the communication came in on audio only. “This is the _Liberator_ ,” Blake announced. “We read you.”

There was a slight delay before the answer – the communication running through a two-way encryption.

“Roj Blake. A pleasure to hear from you.”

Vila’s head snapped up. He knew that voice – female, always with a shade of taking nothing too seriously, of youthful recklessness. He looked across the flight deck, and found Avon similarly transfixed, staring at the view screen as if he could conjure up her image by sheer force of will.

“That’s Dayna!” Vila exclaimed when it became clear that Avon wouldn’t.

Blake looked over to Vila in surprise. “Dayna Mellanby, yes. I had heard of her father – his group was similar to my own, before the Federation massacred them all. Do you know her?”

“Yes, we know her,” Avon said tonelessly.

Blake raised his eyebrows, but didn’t say anything else. He waved at Cally, who had manually muted their transmission circuits at Vila’s exclamation, and she opened the channel again.  

“Dayna Mellanby. The pleasure is mine,” Blake said, “I’m afraid I bring unpleasant news. Is there somewhere we can meet in secrecy and discuss this in person? It would be best if we minimised the risk of anyone overhearing us as much as possible.”

“Of course. We will send you the encrypted coordinates, and teleport instructions.”

“Thank you.”

“I look forward to meeting you. Contact us on this frequency when you get into range.”

With that, the connection cut off.

Blake locked gazes with River. “Does that meet your approval?”

“Yes. The precautions are sensible enough. Mellanby seems to be a clever woman.”

“Hardly more than a girl,” Vila mumbled.

“What do we know about her, Blake?” Cally asked.

Blake leant back in the pilot’s chair, frowning thoughtfully. “Perhaps you should ask Avon and Vila?”

No one but Vila saw Avon’s flinch.

“Judging from their surprise,” said River, “it seems like this Dayna Mellanby has diverged from the path set by theirs.”

“Oh yes,” Avon said, his voice dripping bitterness. “Our Dayna was never a rebel – until, that is, she had the misfortune of saving my life.”

Blake’s frown deepened, and Vila wished he could sink through the floor. Blake said: “All I know is that she has been leading a rebel group since the first wave of the alien invasion – quite successfully, too. Her name was in one of Avalon’s intelligence reports, before we lost contact with Avalon in the chaos. Did we get the coordinates, Cally?”

“Yes – the planet is Sarran.”

Avon’s face twisted into a frozen grimace that was barely an attempt at a smile. “Of course it is.”

Blake ignored him and instructed Zen to set the course. Vila wished he could have the luxury of ignoring Avon and not suffer any consequences – but he could almost see the gulf between them, easily as wide as the distance across the flight deck between their stations. With every moment of silence it was opening up deeper and deeper into a bottomless pit. Sooner or later, Vila was sure, it would swallow them both.

“Avon.” Vila nearly choked on the name, so simple a combination of two syllables.

Avon looked at him wordlessly, and even across the distance Vila could see the hurt in his eyes.

“Please.”

Avon blinked and gave a brief nod, looking away. “Estimated time until we are in teleport range of Sarran, Zen?”

“Four hours and 31 minutes,” Zen intoned solemnly, naturally not registering the hitch in Avon’s voice. Vila wasn’t even sure if any of the others had heard it.

“You don’t need us, do you, Blake?” Vila queried, already sliding out from behind his station.

“No, it’s all right”, Blake answered absently. “I’ll let you know when we’re in range.”

Avon was already heading out the exit on his side of the deck, and Vila sprinted to catch up with him. As before, he felt out of step; Avon made no effort to leave space for Vila as he walked down the corridor – limping, Vila noted, quite badly. They arrived back at Avon’s newly acquired cabin without a word spoken between them.

Avon unlocked the door and entered, standing in the space as if he, too, were a guest rather than the occupant. As if he didn’t know what to do with himself.

Vila gingerly lowered himself onto a chair, half-expecting to be ordered to remain standing any moment.

“Say what you have to say and then get out,” Avon said without infliction, his gaze fixed unblinking on the hand he had clasped around the walking stick. It was shaking with tension.

“I’m sorry,” Vila said.

“Yes. So am I. If that is all…”

“No – Avon, I’m sorry I made you say it.”

Avon remained silent.

“If I had known that was on your mind I wouldn’t have pushed. I didn’t realise. It never happened before.”

“There was never a situation like this before,” Avon mumbled, and finally made the two steps it took to collapse on the bed, limp as though his strings had been cut. Lying sprawled out across the mattress without even a concession to his knee – it wasn’t like Avon, but he made no move to change position. Vila’s heart ached to see it.

Unexpectedly, Avon laughed – a chuckle rising low in his chest, which, as it burst out, sounded insane. “I was never jealous before,” Avon said, almost conversational, “not like that. Oh, Anna was pair-bonded, of course, but that had always been a financial and political marriage, not _love_.”

“Avon, please don’t.”

Avon laid a hand across his eyes, shielding most of his face from Vila’s view. “Just get out.”

Vila swallowed and gathered all his courage. “Avon – I’m sorry that I made you say it when you didn’t want to. I’m sorry I reacted the way I did. If… if you like, we can forget it ever happened. I won’t bring it up, and you won’t bring it up, and we go back to the way it was before, eh?” His throat felt tight, but he forged on resolutely: “But I’m not sorry that you said it. I’m not sorry that you do. Unless you’re sorry that you do.”

“There is no going back, Vila.” Avon lowered his hand, but kept staring up at the ceiling. “What difference does it make? Every wretched, self-pitying second; what difference does it make?” he asked, his voice soft.

“What if I–”

“I don’t want your pity,” Avon snapped, turning sharply onto his side, his back to Vila.

“I’d been falling in love with you since Saurian Major!” Vila found himself on his feet with no clear recollection of making the choice to get up. “Only I never said anything because I thought I didn’t stand a chance! And I wouldn’t have, would I, not against Anna’s ghost. And after that was over we lost Cally, we lost the _Liberator_ , and everything was going sour so quickly so I gave up dreaming and started just trying to keep alive and sane! And afterwards – afterwards I had somehow got all I ever wanted. Perhaps it was a little broken, and perhaps I had never actually said it and perhaps we weren’t having sex like I’d always wanted, but I didn’t care much about that after… everything,” Vila wound down, breath spent, and collapsed back into the chair.

Avon lay very, very still.

“I thought it’d scare you off, if I said anything,” Vila mumbled. “I needed to stay with you more than I needed it to be out in the open. ‘s not that I think it’s wrong or – or anything. I just never… you’d been hurt enough.”

Avon shook his head softly in instant denial. He didn’t turn around, for which Vila was grateful. He needed to say this bit, too:

“But I’ve gone and done it now, haven’t I? After all those years of being so careful. Made you say it when you didn’t want to because I was too wrapped up in myself to notice what you were thinking. And then ran off as if… as if it were some horrible thing when I’d dreamt of hearing it for years. After all that, first chance I get, and I go and hurt you. And if… if you never say it again, that’s all right. If we pretend it never happened, that’s all right, too. And if we can’t and… and you want to leave for the Outer Planets once we get back, that’ll be all right as well. And you don’t need to answer me right now, because you… love me, and you don’t want to hurt me, but I couldn’t stand it if you were hurting because of me, Avon.”

In the silence that followed, Vila stared at his hands, wishing for a glass of… anything, really, to occupy him, but he couldn’t go and drink when he was feeling like this, and he couldn’t go and _leave_ , not before Avon had said something. And if he sat there while Avon fell asleep and if Avon never spoke to him again, even once they arrived at Sarran, then he would know.

Vila heard Avon shift, and, lifting his gaze, found him looking at Vila, beautiful eyes shadowed. “I’m not so delicate a flower,” Avon said very gently.

“I didn’t–” Vila began, but Avon shook his head again, stopping him.

“I think we were hurting each other, don’t you?”

“I’m all right.”

Avon tilted his head a little, an almost-smile curling his lips. “Vila…”

“All right, I’m not. Let’s just forget it all, eh, Avon?”

Avon sat up, swinging his legs over the edge of the bed to settle his feet on the floor. “Do you want to forget it happened, truly? Could you?”

“If it means we stop being upset and avoiding each other, if it means that we go back to talking to each other the way we did before Blake showed up, then yes, I want to try!”

“Let me rephrase that. If we could walk into the medical unit now and erase the memory of our last few conversations, would you want to?”

Vila faltered, thrown by the sincerity in Avon’s voice. “We can’t. Can we?”

“The point is, Vila, that _I_ don’t want to, and I think you don’t either – but if I’m wrong…” Avon trailed off, looking down at his hands clasped between his knees. “I’m tired of running, Vila.”

Vila suddenly, desperately, needed to touch. He reached out to capture Avon’s hands between his. When Avon simply met his gaze, his hands still and cool in Vila’s, Vila gently stood, pulling them both to their feet, and wrapped his arms around Avon. He felt Avon sigh, his head coming to rest on Vila’s shoulder. Avon’s hands settled lightly on Vila’s back. Gentleness from Avon had ceased to take Vila by surprise long ago – he had always known Avon wasn’t really as harsh as he made out to be – but this was different. This was all the trust that had built between them _and_ the tenderness _and_ the love.

Unexpectedly, a chuckle rose in Avon’s chest, shaking the muscles under Vila’s hands. “What fools we are,” Avon said against Vila’s ear, his voice soft and light.

“Not just me then, eh?”

“Oh no. It was never just you.” Avon pulled back slightly, and a trembling hand came up to trace first Vila’s cheek, then, softly, his lower lip. “Vila…”

“Go ahead,” Vila whispered, as if he were avoiding scaring away a skittish animal.

Vila watched Avon’s eyes light up, mouth shifting into a small smile, and then he leant in, bridging the last few inches between them, and pressed his lips against Vila’s. Vila immediately parted his own slightly in response, his hands wandering up to Avon’s nape. He closed his eyes as Avon nipped gently at his bottom lip, and chased the soft lips with a quick dart of his tongue when Avon pulled back a fraction. Vila leaned back in, breathing the scent of _Avon_ and captured Avon’s lips again, a gentle but insistent caress that Avon echoed without a shred of hesitation. Needing to be even closer, Vila stepped forward – and Avon gasped against his lips, one hand tightening about Vila’s upper arm almost painfully. Their noses brushed against each other.

“Careful, Vila. My stance isn’t as stable as it used to be.”

Vila opened his eyes and found himself getting lost in Avon’s, so close that they were drawing all his focus. “Huh?”

Avon’s eyes sparkled, drawing together at the corners in a smile. Vila traced the wrinkles with his finger in wonderment.

“My knee, Vila.”

“Oh. Right. Sorry.” Vila shifted to give him space, but Avon didn’t let him go far, immediately seeking out Vila’s lips again.

This time, with his eyes open, Vila could watch as Avon’s closed, lashes quivering against his cheek, and, absurdly, felt close to tears.

“Avon.”

Avon hummed against his lips, softly brushing over the corner of Vila’s mouth.

“Avon, Avon, stop a moment.”

Avon pulled back, his eyes slowly opening and scanning Vila’s face. “Are you all right?”

“Never better. A little overwhelmed, is all.”

Vila would never get tired of the mirth lighting up Avon’s eyes from within. “That good?”

“Shut up.”

“Hm.” Avon shifted and winced, a flash of pain darting over his face. “Perhaps I should sit down.”

Vila gently pushed Avon back down on the edge of the bed, clambering up onto the mattress beside him. “Better?”

Avon sighed. “Not much, but then that is my own fault. I was… neglectful.”

Vila frowned, dismayed. “Avon…”

“Yes, I know. I shouldn’t have stood at the flight deck station for as long as I did.” Avon nodded towards the shelves above the head of the bed. “There is a small box of painkillers on there.”

Vila shuffled further up onto the bed to be able to reach the shelf and quickly located the box – there was hardly anything else on there, after all. Vila picked it up, swallowing down the indescribably ache at the impersonality of the room. Avon’s suite back home was so saturated with his personality, and this – this felt as though Avon weren’t quite there.

Vila passed the medication to Avon, his fingers lingering longer on Avon’s hand than he used to allow himself.

“Thanks.” Avon opened the lid, taking one of the small capsules – Vila recognised them as _Liberator_ issue, but of course they would be. Vila had hardly brought any on board when they had taken Avon to the medical unit. They hadn’t planned on staying long, after all.

“You should move into my cabin,” Vila said.

A quicksilver smile flickered over Avon’s face. “The bed is too small, Vila.”

“We already managed for one night.”

“ _One_ night, yes.”

“But it’s not like we have to keep our distance now.”

“Hm.” Avon set the painkillers down on the bed beside him and turned to Vila, stealing another kiss. “Have we ever?”

“Can’t remember.”

Avon’s fingers traced the outline of Vila’s jaw. “It might be in your interest to start remembering soon, or _I_ might start doubting your story of falling in love with me.”

It was said in jest, but Vila still pressed a reassuring kiss to Avon’s lips before he answered: “Yeh? What about you, then? When did you start falling in love with me?”

Avon’s gaze drifted away, amused and contemplative. “Possibly around the time we encountered the _Ortega_ – you remember that little murder mystery, of course.”

Vila remembered that meteoroid storm, but he was too surprised to dwell on the memory of it – he hadn’t thought Avon was really in love with him at all before he had said so in unmistakable terms, and when Vila had indulged his dreams, it had been after Gan’s death that he allowed himself to believe that Avon had become his friend – love? Never. “Really?”

Avon met his gaze again. “Yes. Not that I was prepared to acknowledge it then, even to myself.”

An unpleasant thought occurred to Vila, and he toyed with the curls of hair at Avon’s nape for reassurance. “Then River…”

“He knows, yes.”

“He was in love. When other-me died, he was already in love?”

Avon sighed. “I don’t think he will appreciate you feeling sorry for him, Vila.”

Vila drew back slightly, pressing his palm against Avon’s chest. He could feel his heartbeat, pulsing with reassuring regularity against his fingers. “You really _were_ jealous! You really thought I would choose him over you!”

“Perhaps it wasn’t one of my best moments, but _I_ thought he had told you when I had never dared.”

“He hasn’t.”

Avon grinned. “Yes… I realised that when you stormed out on me.”

“Sorry.”

“No, don’t – if our roles had been reversed, I might have reacted the same way.” Avon paused and swayed slightly, his hand going to his temple.

Alarmed, Vila caught his hand. “Are you all right?”

“Yes.” Avon squeezed Vila’s fingers, and yawned. “It’s –”

“The painkillers. They’re from _Liberator_ ’s medical storage.”

Avon made a small affirmative noise and released Vila’s hand to remove his shoes. He shifted fully onto the bed, and Vila settled back against the cushions, pulling Avon to his chest. Avon came willingly, half-curling into Vila in the way that had become familiar between them. Vila had become accustomed to it in a prison cell, but it had never felt as nice as this. He nipped gently at Avon’s ear, and Avon squirmed, but didn’t pull away.

“They make me dizzy and tired,” Avon said, voice soft.

Vila ran his fingers through Avon’s hair, enjoying the softness and the familiar scent of the other man that was stirred up by the movement. When he used to do this in prison, Avon’s hair had been an uncombed, untrimmed mess matted with sweat and grime, but now it was well-groomed and had been washed fairly recently, leaving the strands like silk between Vila’s fingers. He traced the greying strands, well aware that Avon’s breathing was slowing, his weight growing heavy in Vila’s arms.

“We have three hours, Avon,” Vila whispered, pressing a kiss onto the grown of Avon’s head. “Sleep.”

He wasn’t sure if Avon even still heard him.


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Didn't quite mean to post this late, but stuff was happening! In exchange, you'll get two things from me today - this new chapter (and a long and exciting one, too!) and something else you'll find in the B7 feed!

Avon awoke to a soft whimpering noise near his ear. The lingering confusion of dreamless, drug induced sleep threw him for a moment as to where he was, and who he was with. A flash of a memory rose before his eyes, a desolate blank white blank wall of a prison cell, a leaden weakness in his limps that forestalled all movement – but then the whimper came again, and the confusion cleared.

 _Vila_.

Avon’s heart swelled absurdly, and the dreamlike dread was replaced by warm contentment the likes of which he couldn’t remember having felt before. He blinked, trying to clear his vision still fuzzy with sleep, and found Vila’s face very close, sharing his pillow – oh, but the whimpering noise came from Vila, faint sounds of distress as the thief’s eyes darted back and forth under his eyelids. Vila’s hands twitched fitfully, like a man restrained.

The intensity of his worry took Avon’s breath away. When Vila had had the panic attack, Avon had simply acted – there had been no time for concern. And before – before Vila had always taken care to hide his own struggles from Avon, and Avon had let him. Before, Avon had always been too drugged or too exhausted to wake up while Vila was still asleep.

Avon placed his hand gently on Vila’s cheek, thumb brushing under Vila’s eye, and pressed a tender kiss onto the tip of Vila’s nose. “Vila.”

Vila whimpered again, lips moving in a mumbled plea: “No... please, no. Don’t! Avon!” Vila’s voice had risen to a distressed, loud wail, and on the final shout he jerked, his eyes flying open. Avon hastily withdrew as Vila sat bolt upright, his entire body shaking, breath coming in hiccoughing gasps. Vila wrapped his arms around his knees and buried his face in them, rocking gently.

Helpless worry closing his throat, Avon propped himself up on his elbow, and tentatively reached out towards him, brushing Vila’s shuddering back. “Vila…”

Vila made an indistinct sound, and suddenly turned and threw his arms around Avon, clinging with bruising strength. He buried his face in Avon’s throat, and Avon could feel the hiccoughing breaths and shuddering tears against his skin.

He closed his arms around Vila, inhaling Vila’s scent that he had so easily, so long ago, even unwashed and sweaty, come to associate with safety. Avon simply held on in silence as Vila’s shuddering panic stormed itself to an end. He knew there wasn’t a platitude he could offer – _it was just a dream_ had long ceased to be a valid argument. Avon knew very well the horror the Federation was able to invoke with _just dreams_. While he couldn’t know what tortures they had inflicted on Vila, Avon doubted that they hadn’t made use of one of their most effective methods of torture just because there was a rumour that Vila was ultimately unconditionable.

When Vila began to quiet down, lying limply against Avon’s chest, Avon eased his tight embrace and gently stroked Vila’s hair instead.

Vila sniffled, poking his nose, cold and wet, into the skin at Avon’s throat. “Sorry.”

Avon hushed him, shifting only to change the position of his knee, and kept up the light soothing movement. “Do you still have nightmares every night?” Avon asked softly, echoing Vila’s words of only a few days ago – it felt like a lifetime.

Vila, his mind ever agile for plays on words, caught the allusion, of course, but he shook his head against Avon’s hand. “Not like this. Not often. It’s memories, Avon – nothing the Federation ever did could make me forget, but sometimes I wished they had.”

Avon didn’t respond. As much as the memory loss might have spared him some additional trauma, Avon had always found the thought of having his mind and memories manipulated profoundly terrifying – he knew it had happened to him, either because of what the Federation had done or because his mind had simply buckled under the constant strain: There were large patches of time of which he remembered nothing, interspersed with brief flashes of sensation, of memory like the one that had assailed him when he had woken up. Over the years, Avon had chosen to ignore them or risk losing himself entirely to the past. There was nothing to discover there that would be worthwhile knowing.

“You don’t remember, do you?” Vila asked, his hand twisting into the folds of Avon’s shirt.

“I hardly know what you dreamed, Vila, but probably not.”

“Does that never bother you?”

“I cannot let it, if the price I might pay for remembering might be my mind. Yours was always sturdier than mine.”

“You mean that?”

“Of course.” Avon glanced over to the wall chronometer. “We still have over an hour before we reach Sarran. Do you want to talk about it?”

“What if it brings back your memories?”

“I will be fine.”

“But you just said–”

Avon stilled his hand, simply letting it rest on Vila’s head. “Things have been coming back piecemeal every once in a while all those years. One more can hardly make a difference. Not today, anyway.”

Vila was silent for a long moment, and when he finally answered, his voice carried that touch of light humour that Avon had hoped to awaken with the remark: “Why today?”

Avon looked down, and found Vila’s head already tilted at an awkward angle towards him. He pressed a soft kiss onto Vila’s smile by the way of an answer, then pulled back. “Besides, you’ve listened to my complaints often enough over the years. It’s time I returned the favour.”

Vila reached up and intertwined his fingers with Avon’s, bringing their hands down to rest together on Avon’s chest. His thumb was brushing erratic little circles over Avon’s knuckles. “It’s not what they did to me. It’s what they did to you,” he mumbled, voice barely audible.

Avon inhaled, steeling himself. “Go on,” he said gently, keeping still and his breathing deliberately even.

“It was the only time they ever took us out of our cell together. I think it was to scare me out of trying to pick the lock – not that I could have gone anywhere, even if I had, even if I could have. It was before you… went away. I saw you break that day, Avon. I thought I was watching you die!”

Avon squeezed Vila’s hand. “I’m all right.”

“You weren’t then! Gods, Avon…”

“Perhaps talking about it wasn’t such a good idea.”

Vila shook his head, his hair tickling Avon’s throat. “Need to get it out, now. They took us to an empty room – a blank room. There wasn’t even a bench; the walls were padded, soundproofed. There just wasn’t anything. We thought they had just moved us to a new cell at first – because they’d never taken us together, had they. Only after we’d been in there for a while you started getting… lethargic. Stopped talking, stopped moving around, stopped breathing properly. I thought it was Pylene 50 at first, or something like it, some gas, but I was feeling fine – and then you started screaming, only you couldn’t move anymore, you just screamed and screamed and screamed until your voice gave out but it didn’t stop and I thought you were dying!”

Avon tightened his grip on Vila’s shoulder. He couldn’t remember – but even if Vila had made it up, hallucinated or dreamed it, and Avon didn’t think that he had, it hardly mattered. The pain it was causing Vila now tied Avon’s stomach in knots.

“I started banging at the door at some point,” Vila went on, his voice just fractionally less panicked, “and the next thing I remember is waking up back in our cell. You were there, but asleep or drugged or unconscious, and they came to take you away before you woke up and when you came back you’d gone _away_!”

“And you thought it was because of whatever they had given to me when we were in that other cell.”

“Yes. I thought I’d be next,” Vila said in a small voice, huddling into Avon’s side in a miserable ball.

“It must have been gas keyed to my genetic makeup,” Avon mused, aware that his abstract tone was incongruous with Vila’s violent emotions, but needing to make a response, any response.

“It was cruel.”

“When has the Federation ever been anything else?”

“Now you sound like Blake.”

Avon’s grip on Vila tightened despite himself. “I have enough reasons of my own to dislike the Federation, don’t forget that, Vila.”

“Sorry.” Vila shifted, twisting out of Avon’s embrace, and swung his legs over the edge of the bed. “Not like I don’t, either. I wish we were back home, Avon, then we wouldn’t need to have this conversation.”

Avon sympathised. He much preferred the Federation as an ugly smudge in the history books (and a deep scar in his own memory) than as a thing of the present. The mere thought that _Servalan_ might still be alive brought the taste of bile to his throat. He moved to sit by Vila’s side, gingerly stretching his knee. The pain was better even though the painkillers would be fading again by now – probably the euphoria had something to do with it. Just as he was thinking of stealing another kiss from Vila, Vila leant over to brush his lips against the corner of Avon’s mouth. Avon turned to return the caress and lost himself in the sensation for a moment, before Vila pulled back, panting slightly, and Avon found his face lit up with the pure incandescent joy that made his own heart sing.

“Avon,” Vila said, “love your smile.”

Avon hadn’t even been aware that he had smiled, but found that he didn’t care to drop the expression. “Yes.”

“Let’s forget about Sarran and Blake and Dayna and the whole mess and stay in bed.”

“As tempting as that is, I need to move or having taken that painkiller earlier will have been for nothing.” Avon stood, and carefully went through some of the gentler stretches. “Besides, the sooner we get this over with, the sooner we can go home.”

“You’re still thinking of leaving for the Outer Planets,” Vila said. His voice was mild, but Avon could read the hurt behind it.

“Considering how long we have been gone, we might not have a choice but change our names and settle on the Outer Planets,” Avon said, then went on: “You know me better than to expect a promise, Vila, but I do give you my word that if I chose to leave, you will be the reason that makes me want to stay.”

Vila tilted his head and suddenly grinned. “Aww, Avon! I think that might have been the most romantic thing you said to me yet!”

Avon rolled his eyes. “Yes, well. Perhaps I should be grateful your standards are so low.”

Vila climbed to his feet, tugging at his shirt to straighten it. There wasn’t really much else he needed to do – Vila’s clothes never seemed to wrinkle, no matter whether he fell asleep on the flight deck or in a bed still wearing them. “Wait a moment – what do we tell the others?”

“Let them work it out.” Avon turned towards his shelves, selecting a fresh shirt and a jacket, lest he’d be forced to borrow Blake’s again. Even if he didn’t expect to feel cold _today_ , even dared hope that he might not feel that same type of cold ever again. “I have no interest in making a public announcement of my private affairs.”

“What does Blake need us for, anyway? We could just stay on board and work the teleport.”

As if on cue, the wall communicator came to life, Blake’s voice clear in the speaker. “Avon, Vila, we’re approaching Sarran. Meet us in the teleport bay – and Vila, I want you down there with us.”

“Me?” Vila squawked. 

“You know Dayna Mellanby.”

“You could take Avon!”

Avon shot Vila a dark look.

“I am,” Blake said, “I’m taking River. Get ready, Vila.”

Vila turned towards Avon with a sour face. “You know, it was irresponsible of other-me to go and get himself killed. Being Vila Restal for one universe was enough work already.”

Avon laughed.

 

By the time they arrived at the teleport unit – Vila had insisted on a quick shower and changed into some surface clothes – the others had all gathered there. Infuriatingly, River took one look at Avon and then relaxed, nodded knowingly, and held out a gun belt for Vila.

“Here. I trust they’ll still fit.”

Vila pulled it from his hands and made a face. “I haven’t gained that much weight. Besides, keep this up, and I’ll be thin as a beanstalk again from all the stress, you’ll see.”

Before he could think twice about it, Avon trailed his fingers gently down Vila’s arm and slipped past to sit at the teleport console. Cally was at the controls, and Avon could feel her eyes on him as he watched Vila fumble with the belt. River drew his own gun and stepped back to Blake’s side, a gesture so familiar that Avon could almost feel it.

“Any idea how long you’ll be down there?” Avon asked, directing his gaze to Blake.

“For as long as it takes to convince them to help us,” Blake said evenly. “Pylene 50 must be stopped, Avon.”

“Yes, I know. You might find Dayna rather too enthusiastic.”

“That’s why I’m taking Vila.”

Vila perked up at that, fingers finally fastening the clasp at his belt. “Eh?”

“You know Dayna Mellanby. Your insights will be invaluable in the negotiations.”

“Oh, marvellous. Talking politics with a fiery hothead? Are you sure you don’t want to take Avon?”

“Two Avons might cause some confusion,” Blake said, patience wearing thin. “Are you _ready_ , Vila?”

“Yes, yes, all right.” Vila stepped into the teleport alcove and caught Avon’s gaze with a miserable expression.

Avon smiled. “Remember, Vila – between the two of us, _you_ are the diplomat,” he said, and watched Vila’s mouth twitch into a grin just before the three of them faded from view.  

A moment later, Blake reported “Down and safe,” and then broke contact.

Cally took her hands off the controls, resting them calmly on the edge of the console. “They will call in in an hour.”

Avon nodded. “You should go and monitor the flight deck, then. I’d like to avoid a run-in with pursuit ships.”

“What about the detector shield?”

“Oh, it’ll work – as long as no one picked up our messages and is looking out the window.” Avon bared his teeth in a not-grin. “I _can_ handle the teleport, Cally.”

“Of course. I am sorry, Avon.” Cally slipped out from behind the console, leaving space for Avon to scoot over. “You spoke to Vila, didn’t you?” Cally asked once he had settled down.

Avon smiled despite himself. “Yes, I spoke to Vila.”

Cally returned his smile. “I’m glad. For both of you.” With that, she turned away. “I shall be on the flight deck.”

Alone with the console, Avon checked that his adjustments for teleport implants held – Zen had rejected foreign programmes before, but Avon was reasonable sure that by now he had worked out how to keep it from happening. Sure enough, the subroutine was still there. Not that it would do any good now – there hadn’t been time to prepare an injector for the implants. Or, rather, there had been _time_ , but he had been distracted.

Avon leant back, stretching both his legs and his back as far as he could on the bench. He had put some thought into the phenomenon that had brought them here, but had got no closer to whether it could be replicated – and what effects it might have. The data captured by River’s ship was interesting but ultimately useless, as the ship had been caught up in whatever had happened almost immediately. Without Zen’s collaboration it would be difficult, perhaps even impossible to duplicate. Avon wondered at Zen, too. Everything suggested that this Zen was no different from the one on their _Liberator_ , and yet _their_ Zen had never resorted to such a manoeuvre, no matter how threatened the ship had been. If only Blake could remember what he had said to it – but of course Blake had been concussed and anaemic at the time, and hardly remembered anything at all until he woke up in the medical unit after the healing capsules had done their work. Chances were that it had been a one-time occurrence, that some damage of the _Liberator_ itself, undetected after the war, had awoken programming that even Zen couldn’t access directly. Avon had seen a few of those subroutines over the years – it seemed more likely than a complete accident. _Liberator_ ’s own sensory data was extensive, but useless – there had been a built-up of energy, and that was it. There wasn’t even a hiccough in the navigational computer data – after all, they hadn’t travelled in space in the traditional sense. When they had returned to this universe, their space coordinate position had been the exact same – only that here it lay within the most dangerous Federation defence grid of them all. Avon needed to talk to River. Perhaps their slightly different perspectives were enough to shake some idea loose. Or perhaps they should consult Blake, once there was a lull in the crusade.

Avon was pulled from his musings by a crackle in the communicator – far ahead of schedule. Immediately alarmed, he sat up and called Cally down. There was no response from the surface. “Blake, come in. We couldn’t hear you. Blake?” Avon switched channels. “Avon? Vila? Answer, will you?”

His only response was another crackle – then, indistinct, Vila’s panicked voice. It might have been calling for teleport.

Avon didn’t waste a second longer. With the ease of long practice, he initiated the recall sequence blindly, staring at the teleport alcove. Nobody came up. He pressed his lips together and tried again.

Cally burst through the entrance at a run in that moment, but the second attempt was just as unsuccessful.

Avon boosted the signal, tried again. Nothing. He tried the communication circuits again. “Vila. Vila, can you hear me?”

Silence. Not even a crackle, this time.

Avon looked up at Cally, a heavy clump of sheer panic coalescing in his stomach.

Cally reached over, trying the teleport again. It was pointless, of course.

“What now?”

Cally looked worried. “Were you able to understand anything in those transmissions?”

“Not really. I thought I heard Vila calling for teleport, but…”

“Then we wait. There might simply be a disturbance – a force field. Blake did say they were safe.”

“Yes, for all of five minutes. We have _no idea_ what’s happening down there.”

“That’s right. We have no idea. They might be perfectly fine.”

“Or they might be dying.”

“Can you clear up the audio – make out what they were saying?”

“Yes. I can try.” It wouldn’t be an issue with Orac, but without it… “I’ll need Zen. Stay here!”

Cally nodded, slipping behind the console just as Avon made his way out.

The empty flight deck did nothing to ease his feeling of ice-cold dread. He opened a connection to the teleport unit. “Cally, can you hear me?”

“I hear you.”

“I’ll keep the channel open.” He moved from the console, approaching Zen’s visual reference point. “Zen, I need you to boost the volume and clarity of the last two audio transmission received from the surface.”

“Confirmed.”

“Play back.”

Zen obeyed, and Avon winced at the noise of the static crackle, amplified to much more than its original volume. He could hear voices now, even in the first transmission – Blake’s? – but they still drowned in static. “Halt playback – Zen, is there anything you can do about that static? Filter out the noise that remains constant and play back.”

This time, the playback started nearly silent, with the odd burst of crackle, and then, indistinct – not Blake, as he had thought at first, but Vila: “…understand… not Dayna...” The first recording died on a loud crack.

The cold lump of fear in his stomach started weighing Avon down and he sagged against the nearest console, waiting for the second transmission. The quality was worse, but the voice had been louder – Vila, again, and Avon had not been wrong to think he was panicking. “Teleport! Teleport now!”

The silence that followed the recordings seemed to press against Avon’s skull. “Cally, did you hear?”

“I heard. Then they are in trouble.”

“A trap. Either Dayna was never there in the first place, or…” Avon trailed off. Idle speculation was getting them nowhere. He stepped up to the weapons rank, picking up a belt. “I’m going down.”

“Avon, don’t be foolish!”

“I’ve never been anything else.”

“What do you hope to achieve, alone? If they captured three of us…”

“They won’t be expecting _me_.” Avon tightened the belt with a sharp tug and reached out for a gun – only the handle was burning hot. He snatched his hand back, cursing. “Damn!”

“Avon? Are you all right?”

“Fine,” he said through gritted teeth, examining his fingertips. It didn’t look as though he had burned himself too badly. “River has my gun.” Back on their _Liberator_ , he had eventually circumvented the mechanism that only allowed them to handle one gun each, but River clearly had never got around to it. Frustrated, Avon returned the belt to where he had found it, and headed off back down to the teleport bay.

Cally was trying the communicators again when he walked in, but evidently without success.

Avon went to pick up a bracelet. “Put me down at 0.25 variant.”

“You can’t go down, Avon – not alone _and_ unarmed!”

“We have no Orac to operate the teleport for us. You need to stay on board, Cally, to bring us back up – and to take the _Liberator_ out of orbit if this is a Federation trap. This ship must _never_ fall into their hands.”

“Avon, what can you hope to achieve by dying!”

Absurdly, Avon felt as though their roles had been reversed. He snapped the bracelet close and bent down by the console, pulling out the little box of tracers. He selected one, then dug around in his pocket and found one of the implants. The implants weren’t meant to be swallowed, would dissolve in stomach acid far too quickly, but it was better than not making use of them at all. Avon swallowed both implant and tracer down with a grimace, then smiled wryly. At least, over the years, he had had plenty of practice swallowing small objects. He shook the box of tracers. “You’ll be able to track my position on the console with this. It will become defunct in 48 hours, but if I’m not back by then, you will have to assume we are all dead.” He hefted his walking stick. “If there is no response on the bracelet, bring me up anyway. Unless the area is heavily shielded, the teleport will work.”

Cally seized his wrist. “I cannot let you go. You aren’t thinking rationally.”

“Perhaps not, but I’m still going. Let go of me, Cally.”

“Then I’ll go! I would be going armed, at least!”

“I’m hardly unarmed.” Avon gripped the handle of his stick and twisted sharply, pulling off the top. With a slight press on the hidden trigger, he activated the laser, showing Cally.

She let go of his arm. “A laser probe?”

“More of a knife than a probe, but it will do as either.” Avon closed the stick, hiding the knife once more. “Besides, even as it is, this stick is hardly harmless. I have my tools, too.”

For the first time, he could see reluctant acceptance in Cally’s eyes. “Are you sure?”

“I am sure. Cally, I couldn’t survive on this ship on my own. Once, I might have, and if we still had Orac, it might be possible even now – but my health won’t stand the strain. They might yet be alive. If I – if we all die on that planet down there, it’ll be your responsibility to keep _Liberator_ out of Federation hands.”

“The Avon I know would have suggested leaving.”

She wasn’t wrong, but now the suggestion tightened around his heart like a vice. “Vila is down there, Cally,” he said, and stepped away from the console and into the teleport alcove, lifting his stick slightly, the other hand closing about the handle. “0.25 variant.”

Cally adjusted the console, and paused for a final moment, her hands on the dematerialiser. “Good luck.”

“You, too.”

Avon watched her activate the teleport, then he blinked and was down on the planet. The smell of the ocean was the first thing he noticed, as it had been when he had first woken up on the Sarran of their universe. Suppressing the sense of déjà vu, Avon dropped into the shade of a dune and looked about. There was no one in sight. He hadn’t been able to see the ocean where he had come down in the life capsule, but he could see it now, rolling undisturbed onto the beach below. The landscape of dunes behind him lay quiet – no trace of the others. There might be tracks in the sand if they had gone down onto the beach, but in the loose sand of the dunes, their tracks would be indistinguishable from natural disturbances. There were also the Sarrans to consider – _if_ they were still around in this universe. Avon lifted his bracelet to his lips. “Down and safe, for now. No trace of anyone else.”

“Be careful.”

“I will be. I’ll have a look around. Will call in again in a few minutes.” Avon struggled back to his feet. The sand was… unpleasant. It hadn’t been nice to walk in when he had been concussed but otherwise fine; it was utter hell on his knee, and his stick was practically useless on the dunes. After struggling along the edge of the beach for a while, Avon gave in and more slipped than walked down onto the beach proper. He would be leaving tracks, but at least he had some sort of chance of moving effectively down here.

He navigated a rocky outcropping without seeing anything or anyone – and contact with _Liberator_ was as good as it had been where he had come down. As he came into another bay, another sandy beach, the sense of déjà vu returned. He had been here – this must be the beach that held the secret hatch to Mellanby’s home. Avon wondered whether it would be there in this universe, pausing for a moment to scan the beach. It was bright in the sunlight, and here, the beach bore signs of activity. It was impossible to tell how many people had come and gone, and what they had done, but someone had been here. Avon’s eyes caught on a suspicious pile of seaweed, dry and covered in sand.

He lifted his bracelet again. “Cally.”

“Are you all right?”

“Yes. I think I might have found something. If there _is_ something disrupting communication, it will be here, so I might go silent for a while. If you haven’t heard from me in half an hour, bring me up.”

“Are you sure it will work?”

“Yes, it will work. Trust me, Cally.”

“Be careful,” she said again, and Avon broke the contact.

There was one thing he could do before trying the hatch and risking being spotted by security cameras. Avon struggled back up the dune, fighting down the discomfort. The ground was slightly firmer on the other side, scruffy patches of grass holding together the shifting sands, and he made better progress than he had expected. Dayna’s cave wasn’t far, provided he didn’t get turned around. But however patchy his memory of their Federation imprisonment may be, everything else was perfectly clear, even though it had been long ago.

Avon found the hidden entrance on first try. The ground outside was undisturbed, but that might be misleading, so Avon approached with caution. He heard nothing within. Holding his stick ready, he slipped through the curtain of seaweed into the interior, illuminated by a warm glow. The bed was as he remembered it, but back then he had hardly had time to take in anything else. Now, he noted the conserving containers of water and food, the light sticks and collection of warm furs, the translucent box that held an assortment of clothes and the bio-recycler behind a curtain in the rear. There wasn’t much space, but the cave was equipped for survival. Sitting down on the bed where he could keep an eye on the entrance, Avon tried the bracelet. “Cally.”

It worked. “Have you found something?”

“Not yet. But someone might come to find me. At any rate, I might be able to get a weapon here somewhere.”

“A weapon?”

“You forget that I was down on this planet before. I’ll be in touch.” Avon broke the connection, then started exploring more thoroughly. He found a first aid kit – and painkilling patches, one of which he applied to his knee without much hesitation. It wouldn’t do much, but even a little relief was welcome. Then, finally, behind two boxes of food, he found a gun. It was Dayna’s, all right – the gadgetry design familiar, even though he had never seen this particular specimen. There were no power cells.

“Damn.” Avon ran his hand over the shadowed shelf, but found nothing. Useless, then.

“Who the hell are you?!” a voice called from behind him, and Avon turned sharply, wanting to dive for his stick left lying on the bed – but his knee when out from under him, and he fell with a cry, dizzy from pain even the medicine patch couldn’t cover. When he caught his breath and looked up, he found himself staring along the shaft of an arrow – and into Dayna’s face. She was dressed differently from the Dayna he had known – in simpler, less ornamental clothes. Her face was drawn in suspicion that did not hold a shred of youthful enjoyment. The bow, too, was different. _Their_ Dayna’s bow had been deadly, but compared to this, it had looked like a children’s toy. These arrows were metal-tipped, straight-fledged, and rested on a bow that was beautifully worked – and quivering with tension.

Avon slowly lifted his hands.

“Who are you? How did you get here?” Where Dayna’s voice had often swung with amusement even when she threatened, _this_ Dayna’s voice was cold.

“Chevron,” Avon said, drawing on his old alias. When he had first met Dayna, he had used his own name – well, he _had_ been concussed – but this Dayna might know of Blake’s Avon. Better not to invite questions about that just yet. “I found the cave looking for shelter.”

The arrow didn’t waver off target. “Shelter from what?”

“The elements. I crash-landed on this planet in a life capsule. I was looking for a place out of the sun, for drinking water.”

Dayna relaxed the tension on her bow slightly. “You don’t seem to be Federation.”

No point in lying. If this Dayna Mellanby did in fact lead a resistance group… “No.”

Dayna took the arrow from the bow and waved at him with it, indicating the bed. “Get up. Over there.”

The thought of trying to put enough weight onto his knee to get up was enough to let the dizziness return. Avon gritted his teeth. “I don’t think I can.”

“Why not?”

“I… injured my knee.” It was true enough.

“All right. Put your hands behind your head and keep them there.” When he obeyed wordlessly, Dayna placed the arrow in the quiver hanging from her waist, slung the bow over her shoulder and stepped close. Quickly and efficiently, before Avon had even seen the cuffs, hard metal closed about his wrists, then she pulled him roughly up by his arm, hoisting him onto the bed. Avon didn’t have to fake the sound of discomfort as his knee was straightened abruptly, and sank onto the fur-covered platform almost gratefully. He let his bound hands drop limply into his lap as Dayna found the stick and removed it, stepping back from him. She picked up the gun from the shelf, pulled a power pack from a satchel fastened to her quiver and loaded the gun, pointing it unerringly at Avon a second later.

“I’m not a threat,” he told her wearily. He had imagined that if he found Dayna, he found the resistance, and, if he were lucky, Blake and the others. Here Dayna was, alone, had overpowered him with very little effort, and he was still none the wiser as to what had happened to the others. He still wore his bracelet – if nothing else, Cally would pull him out in not even half an hour, but then he would have achieved nothing at all.

“I’ll be the judge of that,” Dayna said. Reaching behind her to the hidden controls Avon had noted but left alone, she flooded the cave with artificial light. Avon blinked against the sudden brightness, but didn’t move. Dayna was very capable of shooting him before Cally could work the teleport, even if he got away with reaching for the bracelet. So he simply waited as she studied him.

“I know you, don’t I?” she said suddenly, sounding puzzled.

Avon looked up. “I don’t think so.”

“Yes, of course! You’re Avon! Kerr Avon!”

Avon kept his voice flat. “Who?”

“The Federation must have been using a very old photo for the propaganda.”

 _Charming_. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

Unexpectedly, Dayna lowered her weapon and placed it back on the shelf, though she kept his stick. “You’re amongst friends, Avon.”

“My name is Chevron.”

Dayna ignored him. “I’m Dayna Mellanby. I’m glad you could avoid capture.”

Avon tensed despite himself. “I told you, I…”

“You came here with Blake. You are here to meet me. I am sorry, Avon. A ship crash-landed and brought a squadron of Federation troopers. They followed one of my people, and took the base – everyone else has scattered into the dunes. Your friends were taken – my people must have missed your escape, or we would have found you sooner.”

Avon lifted his wrists. “This doesn’t seem very friendly. Remove them and I might decide to trust you. And give me back the cane. An invalid is hardly a threat to you.”

Dayna hesitated for a moment – Avon would have been disappointed if she hadn’t – but stepped closer and unlocked the cuffs, holding out the stick to him. “This could be a formidable weapon.”

Avon smiled wryly. “When I’m feeling better, perhaps.”

“So you _are_ Avon.”

“Yes, I’m Avon. I didn’t come down with Blake – I came looking for them. Are they alive?”

“Presumably. Our base goes under the sea. We saw them dragged there – Blake, and two others.”

“Yes. The Federation troops will have called for backup by now. Damn.”

“We are going to retake the base.” Dayna sized him up. “You aren’t quite what I had expected, but they say you’re good with computers. What about computerised locking systems?”

“Passable. You’ll want Vila for an expert, but…”

“He was amongst the ones taken?”

“Yes.”

“There’s a second entry hatch. I can take you too it, but the system is designed to open only from the inside – it’s an emergency exit, the Federation won’t have found it yet. If you can open the lock, we can retake the base easily.”

“The two of us?” Avon asked, doubtful.

“I have a few convenient gadgets, and no one knows the base better than I. I can guess where they are holding Blake. With them freed, we will easily overpower the troopers.”

“I admire your confidence.”

“You don’t believe me?”

Avon sighed. “No, I do. All right. Let me call the _Liberator._ They should be warned that company might be coming.”

Suspicion flickered briefly over Dayna’s face, then she nodded simply. Avon called Cally and gave her a brief update. Zen reported nothing on the sensors yet, but it would only be a matter of time. They had to get out, and fast. Ending his conversation with Cally, he turned back to Dayna, who was watching the entrance. “Your base is compromised – do you want your people evacuated?”

Dayna shook her head. “They got a message off, but no one seems to have been in range to hear, or we would have had them on our sensors. But in case someone did, after all, evacuation is already underway; we can be off immediately if anyone shows up. We have a ship – with the _Liberator_ for escort, we will get away.”

“That depends on how many pursuit ships there are. We cannot risk the _Liberator_.”

“Then we will simply lie low for a while. The Federation won’t find us, or our ship. But you need my help, so I will have to come with you.”

Knowing that Blake would have offered that at any rate, Avon nodded. “All right. Shall we go?”

“Yes. It is growing dusk.”

Dayna led the way, light-footed even in the deep sand. Avon could barely keep up – no, he _couldn’t_ keep up. The pain medication was still in effect, but he couldn’t make his knee move fast or nimbly, and the sand was dragging at his boots. The walking stick kept sinking into piles of sand that were deeper, less dense than anticipated, throwing off his balance more than it was helping. Eventually, after observing his struggles for a while, Dayna stepped smoothly to his side and slipped a steadying arm around his waist. If the ground had been less treacherous, he might have shaken her off – as it was, he was just grateful that she was also keeping a tight hold on her gun.

“What happened to your knee?” she asked conversationally, her quiet voice almost swallowed by the sound of waves breaking on the beach.

“I told you. An injury.”

“It isn’t recent.”

“What makes you say that?”

“A man like you? You would never have accepted my help this easily, nor would you have carried the cane, certainly not if you had just come down from the ship. If you had picked up a piece of driftwood on the beach I might have believed you, but this…” She gestured vaguely at the stick in his hand. “You really aren’t quite what I expected.”

“Older, for one thing?” Avon said, allowing himself a moment of private humour. It was better than letting his mind dwell on – better to stop that train of thought now.

Dayna frowned. “Yes. It isn’t like the Federation to use such an outdated photo for their secret military communiques.”

“I doubt that it is to my disadvantage.”

Dayna laughed – the light, pealing laughter that Avon remembered so well, though it was hushed now. There was a sudden ache in his chest – dead. Dayna was dead, because he had got her killed. “I think you’re right!” this Dayna said, “I only recognised you at second glance. The grey makes you look very distinguished, you know.”

 _You are very beautiful, Avon_. Avon swallowed the memory down. “How much farther?”

“We’re here. Follow me.” Dayna let him go to lead the way down a small path in the dunes, then disappeared behind a curtain of moss.

Avon followed, wary. There was only a small cavern beyond, ending in a door hatch.

“Here it is. Can you open it?”

“I’ll do my best. I have picked up some things from Vila over the years.” Avon leant against the wall of the cavern – it was wet, possibly this place flooded on high tide – to take the weight off his leg and took the little pouch of tools from his jacket. He selected a probe that would allow him to cut through to the circuitry.

Dayna moved to stand watch, leaving him to work by the light of a small pencil torch – another thing he had added to his tools because of Vila. It was simple enough. He needn’t pick the lock, just disable the mechanism that held the door closed, then they would be able to push it open manually. Vila would have tutted at the crude approach, but despite it all, Avon was no Vila, and trying to actually trip the lock would take much longer. The locking mechanism, meanwhile, was perfectly standard, even a little old-fashioned, and Avon had no difficulty with it whatsoever.

“That should do it. Help me push the door.”

Together, they pushed at the door, and after some initial resistance it slid easily to the side, revealing a narrow corridor with emergency lighting beyond. Dayna took the lead again, and Avon followed close behind, grateful for the even and firm ground. He did his best to step lightly, following Dayna’s example, as the walkway slowly wound its way downwards, their descent hurried by a few short staircases. Avon could have done without the stairs, but the hallway was so narrow that he could easily brace himself on the wall for support.

With the door open, the corridor would become a death trap if Avon was right and the entrance area flooded come high tide, but the teleport should work even down here as long as there were no force fields, and if there had been, they would have encountered them by now.

Dayna slowed down, and Avon stopped behind her. She twisted to look back at him. “We’re getting close to the main base,” she whispered. “They will have locked Blake and the others up in the storage rooms, which are where we will come out. There might be troopers standing guard. Are you ready?”

Avon just nodded. Ready enough to get out of Dayna’s way, anyway.

They walked a few more meters before coming up to another door. This one, Dayna keyed open with an electronic key from her pocket, flattening herself against the wall as the door slid open. There was no sound from beyond, and they carefully sneaked out into the much more brightly illuminated hallway beyond. They were in a small alcove, a peculiarity of the building design and a dead end to the casual eye, nothing more. Dayna sealed the door behind them again and waved Avon onwards.

They encountered the first troopers just in the hallway beyond – standing guard in front of a closed door. Dayna burst into action, knocking them out – or killing them, Avon didn’t care enough to check – without a single shot fired, without a single sound. Dayna had always been a fighter, but _this_ Dayna had clearly trained in combat. Perhaps she really was the resistance leader Blake had made her out to be – she was certainly more use in a fight than Avon was. As she dragged the two bodies around the corner, Avon threw back the bolts which kept close the door that the troopers had been guarding. Old-fashioned bolts – Vila must have been insulted.

Avon sidestepped as the door opened, avoiding River who had rushed at him from the right. The room was small, filled with storage boxes – and Vila wasn’t there.

“Avon!” Blake cried, sounding relieved.

“And me,” Dayna put in from behind him, but Avon barely heard her. He had caught the eyes of his alter ego, keeping a tight hold on the fear and the rage.

“Where is he?”

“Alive, when I last saw him,” River said, understanding immediately. “They took him for interrogation.”

Dayna made a startled noise behind him. “Avon!”

Avon acknowledged her with half a glance. Ah, yes. Perhaps he should have warned her, but it seemed unimportant.

“What it going on!?”

“It’s a long story,” Blake said, placating, and suddenly that familiar inflection made Avon’s anger boil over.

He rounded on Blake. “ _You_ let them take Vila.”

“There was nothing we could have done – they would have shot us and taken him anyway.”

“Oh no. They wouldn’t have shot _you_.” Avon turned to Dayna. “Where are they?”

Dayna was clearly taken aback by his sudden forcefulness – or perhaps by the fact that there were two of him, Avon didn’t care enough to dwell on it – but she squared her shoulders, ready. “Probably in the main room. It’s by the main entry hatch and has all the equipment.”

“Let’s go, then.”

Avon let Dayna take the lead, but kept barely a half-step behind her. It was easy – he remembered how she moved in situation as these, remembered how to move with her. They had had plenty of practice. He wondered briefly what _this_ Dayna thought of it, but the thought drowned in the white noise of worry when they approached the main room and Avon could hear Vila – crying out in pain.

Dayna stopped near the entryway, peering quickly around the corner. She turned back to them, mouthed _five_ , and then, deftly, opened a hidden storage in the wall, pulling out two hand guns. She held one out to Avon first, who simply shook his head, then passed them on to River and Blake. They fell into the room as one.

Dayna immediately became a whirlwind, shooting two guards closest to them, then hurrying around the perimeter of the room to one side while River and Blake took the other way. Avon ignored them all.

Vila was tied to a chair, a Federation officer bending over him, wielding a laser probe. There was a bloody gash on Vila’s cheek. The officer twisted upright at the commotion, only just missing Vila’s nose with the probe, but by the time he thought to reach for his weapon, Avon was already behind him. He laid his stick across the man’s throat and broke his neck in one swift movement, letting the body drop to the floor.

Avon didn’t like killing – he supposed he should be glad that, with the life they had led, he had never developed a taste for it. He simply learned not to hesitate when it was a necessity, but the dislike had never truly faded. He hadn’t killed in years, of course, but when he considered the anger that was still rolling in his stomach, he had let the officer die too easily. Shaking off the thoughts, Avon checked that the others had the situation under control, then dropped down on one knee to untie Vila, his focus narrowing entirely to the task. His knee protested the hard floor, but it hardly mattered – not when there was an expression on Vila’s face that Avon had never wanted to see on it again, no matter that he barely remembered half the times he had seen it before. Vila was watching him mutely, a trickle of blood running down his bruised cheek, another from his eyebrow. His lip had split, and his eyes were wide open, bright and horrified. Avon had to avert his gaze.

He pulled his knife free from the walking stick and cut through the bonds that held Vila’s wrists to the chair – the skin below the ties was torn bloody, testimony to Vila’s fear. The robe holding his chest fell away easily, and Avon set to work on the ankles – at least Vila’s boots had protected the skin there, but there were scuff marks on the dark material.

When Vila was free, he gave a single, choked sob and slid off the chair to crumble to the floor, where Avon caught him awkwardly, leaning back against – a table? a second chair? Vila twisted his hands into Avon’s jacket and lay against him, face buried in Avon’s neck and shuddering soundlessly. Avon held on, knowing that anything else would do nothing to help. In this state, he doubted Vila would understand even if he spoke to him, but he knew he was free and safe and that Avon was there, and that had to be enough.

Avon didn’t know how long it was until he became aware that the fighting had stopped, and that the others had gathered around them. He met Blake’s gaze and lifted an eyebrow. “Are we done here now?”

“Do you have any spare bracelets?”

Avon fumbled around Vila’s back, pulling off his own bracelet. “Take that. Cally will bring you aboard and you can come back down with spares.”

Blake passed it on to River, who stepped away without another word, calling the ship. A moment later, he vanished.

“How is he?” Dayna asked.

If it had been Blake, Avon would have snapped at him, but Dayna couldn’t know. Vila’s shuddering had stopped, his breathing, though still ragged, was regular enough. The painfully clenched fists had relaxed. “Asleep, now,” Avon said, “no larger injuries that I can see. We’ll take him to the medical unit on board ship.”

“Avon…” Blake began, trailing off into silence.

Avon shook his head, suddenly exhausted himself. “I don’t want to hear it, Blake, not now. Let’s get out of here before the reinforcements arrive.”


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not quite planned longer break between chapters, whoops. I get the impression everyone is still scrambling to catch up, though, so hopefully it wasn't too annoying a wait! Let me know what you think of the latest chapters when you have the time - quite a few big things happening!

Vila drifted awake slowly, wrapped in soft warmth. He felt comfortable, slightly fuzzy. Couldn’t quite remember having gone to bed. There was movement under his hand, his head was pillowed on it, too – a slowly rising and falling chest. Avon’s. He was safe, then.

Vila smiled and opened his eyes.

They were in his cabin, back on the _Liberator_. Vila shifted his jaw. It stung a little, but clearly they had fixed him up in the medical unit. All the better. Vila was only too ready to forget that the past day had happened.

He turned his attention to Avon instead. He was deeply asleep; judging from the dark shadows under his eyes, exhaustion had overwhelmed him as he had watched over Vila. One arm was still wrapped around Vila’s shoulder, the other lay across his own stomach, the fingers of his hand inches from Vila’s. He was in nightclothes, his knee elevated as it should be, though Vila couldn’t see much of it under the blanket that was pulled up to both their waists. Vila was glad – it couldn’t have been too bad, then, if Avon had had the energy to think of himself.

He reached to bridge the gap between their hands, entwining their fingers, and went back to sleep.

When Vila woke for the second time, he could remember better, at least enough to recall the terror that had gripped him, if not the details of what had happened. Dimly, he remembered the face of the Federation officer that had tortured him when Avon had broken his neck, but he shook that image off easily enough. Once, violent death had been familiar to him only in the form of Federation violence and neglect, but he had long resigned himself to the fact that it was part of his entire life now. The horror at it wasn’t strong enough to shatter the feeling of profound _safety_ that had wrapped itself around him. That was much stronger, much less dulled by familiarity, and it wouldn’t fade.

Vila’s fingers were still threaded through Avon’s, and Avon was still asleep. The arm that had been on Vila’s shoulder had slipped from its perch. Vila squeezed Avon’s hand apologetically, then slipped out of the embrace and padded to the bathroom to take care of some basic needs. He looked at himself in the mirror, too – he was a little pale, and there were soft healing-aid bandages around his wrists, and he was a little stiff, but the gash in his cheek was gone, as was the painful bruising of his torso. Vila ran a hand over the skin of his cheek – still tender. It could not have been too long since they had come back to the ship, then.

He returned to the bed, where he found Avon shifting in his sleep. Vila climbed back under the blanket, curling around him again. Avon immediately quieted down, and Vila pulled up the blanket, cocooning them both in it, and listened to the steady beat of Avon’s heart. Vila sighed in satisfaction. He could get used to this. Yes, he really could.

 

Avon’s waking pulled Vila from his light doze. He knew immediately when it happened – Avon tensed for a moment, a sleepy murmur escaping his lips before he was fully awake. He moved, possibly to push at the blanket, but his hands were occupied – Vila was lying on one arm, and holding onto the other hand. Vila gave it a soft squeeze, and Avon’s eyes opened.

“Vila.”

“Hey.”

Never one to state the obvious, Avon immediately moved on to the question: “How do you feel?”

“Safe,” Vila told him truthfully.

Avon hummed, and shifted again. Vila pushed himself up a little, letting Avon free his arm, then lay back down. “We don’t have to get up, do we?”

Avon patted their entwined hands with his newly free one. “No.”

“It didn’t go very well.”

For a moment, Vila could see cold anger flare behind Avon’s eyes, but he knew it wasn’t directed at him. “That might just be an understatement, Vila.”

“Dayna?”

“I managed to locate her. Doubtless she’s holding war council with Blake by now.” Avon’s gaze travelled over Vila’s face, lingering for a moment high on his cheekbone, where Vila knew the cut had been. Avon raised his hand and gently brushed his thumb against the spot. “Are you all right? Really?”

Vila had always been able to hear the need for reassurance, for backup in Avon’s voice – hell, sometimes he had deliberately ignored it – but it had never been so soft-voiced, so bare before. “I was terrified, Avon, but I’m safe now. I’ll be all right.”

Avon pressed his lips together in an angry line. “If they had truly harmed you…” He glanced away. “They would not have died so quickly.”

Vila leaned in to press a tender kiss onto Avon’s jaw, feeling a muscle jump. “Don’t be angry at Blake.”

Avon sighed, not even bothering to deny it.

“It wasn’t his fault. They picked on me because they couldn’t figure out who I was. Vila Restal is dead.”

Avon released an exhale, tightening his hold on Vila’s hand for a moment. “I’m very glad he isn’t.”

“Yeh.” Vila pillowed his head on Avon’s chest again. “So am I.” He listened to Avon’s breath for a moment, looking at their hands twined together and Avon’s other hand lying just beyond. His gaze travelled onward, to Avon’s legs hidden under the blanket, the little bump created in the fabric by his elevated knee. For the first time, it occurred to him that Avon could not have carried him here, into this bed – not on his own, not when Vila had been an unconscious weight. So much for how they would tell the others.

Vila inhaled, and suddenly became aware of tension building in Avon, a light shudder in his breath. He looked up, finding Avon watching him through half-lidded eyes. “Do you need to move your knee? It’s all right. You can get up if you need to.” After all, Avon had been lying far too still, far too long.

Avon looked at him blankly for a moment, then his expression crumbled, his fingers tightening painfully around Vila’s hand. Vila saw the pain flood his features, and realised that Avon had been hiding it from him since the moment he had woken up. It had been so long that Avon had hidden physical pain from him that Vila had forgotten just how good Avon was at it.

“Avon?” he breathed, not trusting his voice.

“I can’t,” Avon whispered. His face twisted with pain, and Vila could see him fight for control.

“What happened? Did you get hurt?”

To Vila’s horror Avon laughed, a harsh, bitter sound without any shred of humour. “A sandy beach happened, Vila. A sandy beach.”

Vila sat up at the edge of the bed, slipping his hand from Avon’s. “May I?” he asked softly, indicating the blanket.

Avon nodded, and Vila pulled the blanket away. As he had thought, Avon’s knee had been elevated on a bolster and was covered in the light fabric of the wide-cut sleeping trousers Avon preferred – _Liberator_ ’s extensive wardrobe was a small mercy, at least. Still, even through the fabric Vila could see that Avon was wearing a knee brace – possibly from the _Liberator_ ’s medical unit, bulky straps closed around his upper and lower legs. They had used light fabric wrappings on and off over the years, just for a little extra stability, but Vila hadn’t seen a proper brace since they had first escaped the Federation cell – when the people they ended up with had finally figured out that they needed to do something about Avon’s knee if they wanted him to walk anywhere. Not that Avon had been able to for a long while. Seeing the brace back explained Avon’s anguish – it was more than just the pain, it was the reminder of those horrible weeks.

Avon heaved a shuddering exhale. “Not that there is much to look at.”

“Will cooling not help?”

“If I had been inclined to move enough to reapply the gel, it might have.”

“That’s fine. I’ll take care of it, then.”

Avon reached out, but didn’t quite manage to catch Vila before he slipped off the bed. “Vila…”

“No, I know what you’re thinking. That it’s always me taking care of you. That I’d be better off without you. Well, I wouldn’t be. We take care of each other, yeh? If you weren’t there, I’d have died a long time ago, and if you hadn’t been there, that Federation grunt down on Sarran might have done some real damage. I’m doing this because I want to, Avon, because I don’t like seeing you hurt. I can stand up for myself, you know.”

“I know,” Avon said, sounding faintly amused. Vila looked up, and found Avon smiling, though his face was still white and drawn with pain. “I was going to tell you that the gel is right here – how else could I have reached it on my own?”

“Oh.” Vila looked to where Avon was pointing – the small niche above his bed that he used to use as a shelf, but which he had cleared out since coming to this _Liberator_. He hadn’t needed the soma and glasses that close. Where his cleaning had left an empty space now sat a small jar. Avon took it out of the niche, holding it out to him, and Vila sheepishly accepted it.

“I’m sorry but you’ll have to move for this, so I can roll up the trousers.”

Avon nodded, and carefully shifted onto his side. The movement allowed Vila to push up the fabric, which thankfully went easily, to expose the brace and knee locked within it before Avon settled back down. He gave a small hiss of pain, and Vila spent a moment just running soothing fingers through his hair until the tension in Avon’s body eased with a sigh.

“This wasn’t quite what I envisioned doing today,” Avon said softly.

“Would you rather talk politics with Blake and Dayna?”

“Well now, it might be intriguing to watch how Blake fares with her.”

Using the moment of humour to distract Avon, Vila gentle examined the knee. The _Liberator_ brace wasn’t all that different from the one Avon had used before. Broad, padded straps locked around Avon’s legs above and below the joint, and two pressure pads stabilised the knee from the side. It held the joint slightly bent, the knee itself exposed between the straps – it was still swollen, and looked unpleasantly bruised. There was a space to insert a painkilling pad in the top strap of the brace, and a slow release capsule sat there. As Vila’s hands hovered over the straps, he could feel the gentle vibrations designed to encourage blood flow.

“Does it help?” he asked when he became aware again that Avon had been watching him silently for a while.

“The brace? It keeps me from doing anything… ill-advised, at any rate.”

“Like chasing over sandy landscapes after shipmates who have stumbled into a Federation trap?”

“Something like that.”

Vila pried open the medical gel and dipped his fingers into it, taking a generous globule of the stuff. He didn’t much like the feel of it on his fingers, but he knew that within moments, it would become cool, soothing inflamed and burned skin alike without the risk of frostbite. They’d used quite a bit of it once when Blake had jolted his hand while he’d been helping Avon with some technical problem or other and had got badly singed by the tool Avon had been using.

Very gently, his touch feather-light, Vila spread the gel over the exposed skin around Avon’s knee. The bruised swelling felt hot under his fingers.

“I would, however, do it again,” Avon said, and it took Vila a moment to remember what they had been talking about.

He looked up, meeting the sincerity in Avon’s gaze. “Yeh? Well, _I_ think it’s my turn to do the rescuing now.”

Mirth sparked in the dark gaze. “ _You_? Volunteering for anything? Inconceivable.”

Vila brushed the last of the gel off on Avon’s skin and simply leant in, pressing a kiss to Avon’s lips and shutting him up. When Avon responded to the kiss, Vila pulled back, sliding off the bed. “Need to wash this off my fingers. Be right back.”

Avon glared half-heartedly. “I’m not going anywhere,” he said, amusement tinting his voice.

Vila washed his hands, drying them swiftly, and returned to the bed. He trapped Avon’s head between his hands, burying his fingers in Avon’s hair, and went back to kissing him, because he finally could.

“You’re enjoying this, aren’t you?” Avon whispered against his lips some time later, his own hand a comfortable weight in Vila’s nape.

“Are you saying you’d walk out if you could?”

“No,” Avon said, and pushed with his hand, sealing their lips together again.

 

Vila refused any suggestion of leaving his cabin unless he was called, which suited Avon just fine. As he had told Vila, he wasn’t going anywhere and he appreciated the company. Besides, he had a feeling that the familiar enclosed space which was equipped with a lock that Vila fully controlled and which also contained welcome company was going a long way to soothe Vila’s own shaken nerves. Ever good at hiding his own struggles from Avon when he had got it into his head that he needed to, Vila barely let the echo of panic show, but Avon had seen him on the planet – and Vila had been terrified out of his skull then. It was hardly a surprise. Federation guards, nameless, often faceless, featured in both their nightmares.

Now, Avon was watching sleepily as Vila concentrated on one of the little games that came with the digital handhelds. Vila had moved to a chair, but his bare feet were resting on the bed by Avon’s hip. Avon let himself lie limply, the comfort distracting him from the twinges in his knee. It had been a shock when, after teleporting up and being freed from a Vila who had by then been deep in an exhausted sleep, he hadn’t been able to get up, hadn’t been able to put any pressure on his leg at all, even after Blake and Cally had hurled him upright between them. Kneeling on the floor to cut Vila loose must have been the last straw – he had barely been able to bend the knee for the swelling. Avon supposed his stumble in Dayna’s cave, combined with the exhausting drag of the sand had all built up to this. But they were safe – they were both safe, and that made it worthwhile.

And, well – Blake’s attempt to contact other rebel forces might not have gone exactly according to plan, but he had Dayna now, and Dayna, apparently, had the contacts. Avon was all too happy to let them sort it out amongst themselves. He was feeling far too drowsy to even appeal to Vila for a reader and see if he could do something with the antitoxin, after all.

Idly, Avon reached out and ran the tip of his little finger along the arch of Vila’s foot. Vila jerked back – and forfeited his game. “Dammit, Avon! I was so close.”

“You won’t beat it, Vila.”

“You only say that because you couldn’t.”

“Would you care for a bet?”

Vila’s eyes lit up with the pure, healthy avarice that Avon had sometimes missed when they had been on Earth, when Vila needed to wind down from being Chancellor before he could even engage with Avon as they used to, by which time Avon was often too tired to suggest much of anything.

“What are the stakes?”

A sudden knock on the door interrupted them.

Vila groaned. “Do I have to?”

Avon shrugged lightly. “It’s your cabin. Your choice. You don’t expect _me_ to get up and open the door, do you?”

“Not expecting any visitors, are you?”

“Probably someone checking whether we’re still alive. Perhaps the war council is over.”

The knock came again, polite and restrained. Cally, most likely.

“Yeah, yeah, I’m coming.” Vila passed the reader to Avon and swung his legs down, padded over to the door and unlocked it.

It was Cally. “Vila. It’s good to see you awake.” She smiled, and then glanced past him, meeting Avon’s gaze. “Avon.”

Avon gave her a precise nod.

“May I come in?”

Vila looked back at Avon, and evidently finding no rejection in his gaze, stepped aside. “Sure. You haven’t brought lunch, have you?”

“Dinner, in fact, Vila,” Cally said, and revealed a carrier box.

Avon watched Vila’s smile bloom with relief, warmth settling in his stomach.

“Awww, Cally, you’re a saint!” Vila enthused and immediately took the box from her. He began unpacking even before the door had closed behind Cally.

Cally drew Avon’s gaze away from him when she sat on the edge of the bed. “How do you feel, Avon?”

“You ought to be asking Vila. This–” Avon vaguely indicated his knee, “– is hardly new.”

“Vila seems fine,” she said softly, keeping her voice quiet as Vila cooed over the food she had brought, apparently oblivious.

Avon watched, fondly cataloguing all of the expressions on Vila’s constantly expressive face. “He always does.”  

“I seem to remember Vila always complained easily.”

Avon shook his head, not taking his eyes off the thief. “Not about major trauma. He’d been through hell before he even met us, Cally.” And he had rarely ever said a word about any of it.

Vila lifted a final food container from the box and looked up to meet Avon’s gaze, a roguish grin on his face. “You talking about me?”

Avon fought to keep his own face impassive. It was much harder now that he had admitted to his fondness for Vila out loud than it used to be. “Do you have anything worth talking about?”

“I have food. What would you like, Avon? There’s potato stew, vegetable stir fry, soup and bread  – oh, and those crispy cheese sticks.”

Avon glanced over at Cally. “Fresh food?”

She shrugged. “Curtesy of Mellanby. We were able to stop by one of the supply stores she had set up in the sector.”

“ _Mellanby_?” Avon asked.

Of course, Cally misunderstood. “Dayna Mellanby has been a very efficient rebel leader in this sector. There is considerable rebel support on various planets – two have declared independence and are holding it.”

Avon traded a glance with Vila. “Impressive. How is Blake getting on with her?”

“I think he was surprised by her competence – she seems very young.”

“She is,” said Vila. Of course Dayna had been young by comparison to them even when they had met in their universe – now…

“Now they seem to work together well. I think we can begin to manufacture the antitoxin with her help.” Cally sounded pleased.

Avon just nodded, knowing that it would not be as simple as that. “Are you staying to eat with us?” he asked instead, changing the subject.

“Of course she is!” Vila chimed immediately. “What would you like, Cally?”

Cally smiled at him. “I brought the food for you – you should be the first to choose.”

“But you’re in my cabin, which makes you the guest, which means you have to pick first.”

“Is that a rule on Earth?”

“It is in civilised circles,” Avon said, smiling wryly, “you won’t find many of those on Earth.”

“Then you are also a guest, are you not? Let Avon have first choice, Vila.”

Avon looked over at Vila – Vila who knew that the pain and the painkillers and their combination wreaked havoc on his appetite. That he couldn’t choose when every option sounded as unappetising as the other. He would force himself to eat, knowing that he had to, but he hadn’t truly enjoyed a meal in a long time. He was reluctant to explain as much to Cally, who had already seen more of his disability than he had wanted her to see when they’d had to carry him to the medical unit.

Avon went over the options in his head, thinking of what _Vila_ would like, working by elimination. “What kind of soup?”

Vila lifted the lid off the bowl. “Oh, it’s chicken broth. Do you want it?”

“Yes, all right.” In all the years Avon had known him, he had never asked why Vila preferred to eat vegetarian meals whenever he could, but Avon had a feeling that he wouldn’t enjoy the explanation. Some things he would rather not know.

Vila set the soup, bread and spoon to the side and held up the other two containers. “Cally?”

“I shall have the stew, Vila,” she said, and Avon inwardly breathed a sigh. So Vila was left with what he would have picked, anyway. Perhaps Cally remembered Vila’s habits better than she let on.

Vila passed Cally the stew first, then balanced his and Avon’s food containers on top of each other and settled on his chair. He handed Avon the soup and swung up his legs again with a small, content smile. “See, Avon, I told you food service would be nice.”

“Vila!” Cally exclaimed with amused affront. Then, softly, “I’m glad you are all right, Vila.”

“I’m always all right,” Vila declared blithely, and messily began digging into his food.

For once, Avon did not call him out on his lie. He rested his head against the wall behind Vila’s bed, holding on to the bowl of soup with both hands. It was warming his fingers, at least.

“Avon,” Cally said suddenly, and Avon opened his eyes. He hadn’t even been aware that he had closed them.

“You should eat,” Cally went on. “You have lost weight.”

“Have I? I can’t imagine why.” Still, he opened the bowl, stirring his spoon through the soup.

“I would like to know what happened to you – in your own words.”

Vila groaned. “Are you trying to ruin our appetite, Cally?”

“I would like to know so we can avoid it once you have returned to your universe.”

“Oh, so we _are_ going to return?” Avon directed his soft, bitterly wry statement at the soup, but then he hardly needed to look up to know that Cally was wearing a disapproving expression.

“You aren’t prisoners here, Avon.”

“Yes, Blake was always fond of telling me I could leave at any time.”

“Blake let you go, Avon – even though he needed you more than ever after Vila died!”

Avon looked up then. “You are mistaking me for River.”

“Stop it! Stop it, both of you!”

Avon’s gaze snapped to Vila at the outcry, finding genuine distress in the thief’s face. “Vila… I’m sorry.”

“As am I,” Cally said softly.

Vila stared morosely into his vegetables. “’s all right. I quite like it, usually, you know, Avon? Never met an Alpha before who talked about authority the way the Deltas did. Never met anyone who had all that privilege, and deserved it, too, and threw it all back into their faces just because he could.”

“Vila, I didn’t have any higher motives.”

“That’s what I mean. Do you know how _rare_ dome-bred Alpha criminals are? They either die in luxury defending the system or they die in a ditch as rebels, but _you_ …”

“There’s no grade system anymore,” Avon said sharply. “ _You_ have seen to that.”

“I know that. But it’s hard to remember sometimes, especially here. In the cabinet, too. They miss it, Avon. They don’t say it, but they miss the privilege. ‘s just that they’re scared of the consequences more.”

“They never saw it for the trap it really was, that’s all.”

“Yeh, but what will they do now that I’m gone?”

Avon tightened his hand around his spoon. “You aren’t _gone_!”

“No, but I’m not _there_ , am I? I’m _here_! And here the grade system still exists, and who listens to us, eh? We’re back to being common criminals again, Avon, only this time we’re broken! Blake doesn’t think about the grades, you know that.”

“That isn’t true, Vila,” Cally cut in for the first time.

“Yes, it is,” Avon told her.

“Avon!”

“Blake said so himself. Is that enough proof for you?”

Cally looked appalled.

Avon dismissed her with a shake of his head. “And I asked whether you wanted to stay here,” he said to Vila.

Vila’s voice softened. “You weren’t thinking straight.”

“No, I wasn’t. I was thinking how much happier you looked.” Avon placed his spoon in the soup, balancing it precariously on the edge of the bowl. “Were you?”

“I don’t know.” Vila _sounded_ miserable. “I don’t want to get shot at and tortured and blown up and die for a fight I’ve already fought.” He breathed in deeply, and let it back out in a long sigh. “Look at this. Now _I’ve_ gone and ruined all our appetites.”

Cally reached out, laying a gentle hand on Vila’s arm. “Vila, I _am_ sorry. We have been quite dismissive of you.”

Vila kindly but impersonally took her wrist and removed her hand from his arm. “I don’t always mind that, either. It’s nice sometimes not to have to make the decisions. It’s just that none of you ever listen when it matters, and an apology isn’t going to change that – besides, other people are much worse than the ones on the _Liberator_ ever were.” He looked at Avon, and for a moment Avon could see the depth of Vila’s pain. “Much worse.”

“That shouldn’t be an excuse for us.”

“No, but you’re trying, and that’s more than most people even bother with when it comes to Delta grades.” Vila smiled, shakily. “The food is getting cold, you know.” And with that, he picked up a forkful of noodles and effectively ended the conversation.

Avon stared at him for a moment longer, wondering for the hundredth time at Vila’s quiet, solid strength. Vila was like a blade of grass – he twisted and bent under the pressure, but always, always sprang back up. Whereas Avon – Avon felt rather like a brittle twig, broken in too many places. He had never really learned to bend.

The soup warmed him a little, at least, even though he barely tasted it.

They ate in silence for a while, until Vila started up a stream of meaningless chatter to break the silence between mouthfuls of food. Avon said very little. He felt as though he needed time alone to think, but at the same time his mind was curiously blank. He didn’t know what to say to Vila that hadn’t already been said, didn’t know how to negotiate Vila’s perception of him. Grade had always been a non-issue for Avon, and Vila had often given his best impression that it was a non-issue for him, too, at least when it came to his personal life. Oh yes, he had wanted to dismantle the grade system for its injustice and the suffering of the lower grades, which he had experienced first-hand – but the thinking patterns that the Federation sought to ingrain in the grades had always seemed to matter nothing at all. After all, Vila had never approached Avon as less than an equal, had never hesitated to speak his mind. Vila had never been the subservient, dull-witted Delta Avon had come to expect. That Vila’s first impression of Avon had been so shaped by grade seemed… incongruous, somehow, with Vila the individual.

Vila split the cheese sticks between them, and Avon found a taste for the stronger, heartier flavour, startling even his uninterested taste buds into appreciation. Cally excused herself then, citing a flight deck shift as a reason – Avon couldn’t be entirely sure whether she spoke the truth or merely wanted to escape the strange atmosphere that had settled over the room. Vila saw her out with effusive friendliness, but his brilliant smile faded once the door closed behind her.

“Sorry, Avon. Didn’t mean to ruin the mood.”

Avon said the only thing he could say, the only thing that made any sort of sense: “You never expected me to pretend to be anything I’m not around you – it seems only fair that I should extend you the same curtesy. You don’t have to seem fine if you’re not fine, Vila, unless you need to.”

“I do, sometimes, you know?” Vila settled onto the bed beside him, and Avon carefully moved over to give him what little space there was available. Vila rested his head on Avon’s shoulder. “Sometimes I need to pretend everything’s fine or it’ll just remind me that it isn’t.”

“That isn’t so strange.”

“No, I know. You do it, too.” Even from this angle, Avon could see Vila’s lips quirk into a smile. “It’s just that sometimes it’s easy to forget that I’m pretending. And for a while I’m fine, but then it hits me again. Always has. It’s why I took up drinking in the first place, really. I just needed to be numb for a few hours, and in the morning I’d be all right again.”

“Did it work?” Avon asked with genuine curiosity.

“No. Only felt more miserable after. I’ll be all right, Avon. I’m not right now, but I’ll be all right.”

“Yes.”

“So will you.”

Avon didn’t quite believe it, but didn’t want to say as much now. This wasn’t about him. “Why don’t you pass me that reader again and I show you how to beat that game?”

Vila, of course, perked up immediately. “We never laid our bets.”

“What would you suggest for stakes?”

“Surprise me?”

“All right. There is something I spotted in the holds before we lost the _Liberator_. I can’t guarantee that it’s still there in this universe, but if it is you’ll have it. You’ll enjoy it. _If_ you win the bet.”

“Right. And _if_ you win, I’ll give you a massage. A proper one, like we haven’t done in ages.”

Avon hummed, satisfied. “Deal?”

Vila stuck out his hand. “You beat that game, you win. Deal.”

Avon took the hand and they shook on it.

 

The safety of his rooms, even with Avon for company, started to become oppressive and confining in a little over a day, and Vila grew restless. He went out to fetch them food, but it seemed unfair to Avon, who couldn’t move about much, to leave for any greater length of time. Only Avon was growing restless, too, and Vila’s disquiet only seemed to make it worse. It was only a question of time, Vila knew, before Avon would lose his patience and snap at him. Vila couldn’t shake the disconcerting feeling that they were cut off from the rest of the ship, the rest of the universe, like they had been back in that never-changing Federation cell, and when it got too much he just needed to open the cabin door, just to stare out into the corridor and know that he _could_ leave, if he wanted to.

There were visitors, of course – Cally came by, as did River, though not nearly as often. Vila had the feeling that River was checking up on him, specifically, but he always came to discuss something technical with Avon, or to bring him something to work on. Together, they had gone through Zen’s computer log, and while they had found the power surge that indicated that Zen had, indeed, been responsible for their interdimensional travel, the actual command was hidden under a layer of encryption that even Avon had never seen before. Without Orac, it would take them days, weeks, to break it and allow them to instruct Zen to take them home. And Avon had asked about Orac’s destruction – and learned that the tamper-proofing River had installed before leaving the _Liberator_ had melted its innards beyond all retrieval. Blake had let the Federation take the useless remains, which neither Avon had been happy about. No, there would be no help from the computers, unless Zen suddenly decided to cooperate. Avon thought it unlikely – everything indicated that Zen wasn’t able to respond to their requests. Something specific about Blake’s situation had triggered the hidden routine, Avon said, and no verbal command would be sufficient to invoke it again. Besides, anything short of an exact replication of the command routine might strand them in yet _another_ universe – an idea which horrified Vila, and he thought it horrified Avon, too. At least, he was firmly convinced that their best chance was breaking the code, no matter how long it took. Of course it was all a moot point until Blake had put a stop to Pylene 50 anyway.

One day, Vila opened the door to a knock, expecting Cally – and came face to face with Dayna. The easy joke died on his lips unspoken. Rather impolitely, Vila found himself staring mutely into the young and very alive face of the beautiful woman he had watched being killed on Gauda Prime.

Avon, who had been limping painfully back and forth work out some of the stiffness in his leg, came to stand beside Vila at the silence. “Ah. Hello again.”

Vila could feel the tension in Avon’s body, the effort it took him just to remain upright, the unwillingness to show any of the struggle – he had hidden it in part from Cally, too, but Cally was good at reading people, and – well, she was _Cally_. Avon would never have let _their_ Dayna see the real degree of his pain, never mind this other Dayna.

She looked Avon up and down. “I thought you lied to me, you know.”

Vila caught Avon’s half-smile out of the corner of his eye. “If I recall correctly, it was you who insisted that I was Kerr Avon.”

“And I was right,” Dayna said brightly. “Can I come in?”

“What do you want?” Vila asked, not sure where his hostility came from. He had always liked Dayna, even though she’d scared him and dismissed him. She had been less blunt about it than Tarrant, but they had been two of a feather, really. Still, Vila had _liked_ her, and when she’d been shot, he knew that he had to do something because _Avon_ wasn’t, and…

“Why, meet the only two people on this ship who actually know what we are up against, of course. And to finally meet the famous Vila Restal – the man for whom Kerr Avon is willing to go through hell.”

Vila glanced sharply at Avon, who bit his lip and gave a slight nod, stepping back into the room. Vila watched until he had sat down before standing aside himself, letting Dayna in. She immediately claimed one of the chairs, and Vila pulled the other closer to the bed where Avon was sitting before sinking down on it.

“So now you’ve met us,” Vila said, feeling strange. There was an aura of command about this Dayna, now that he watched her more closely. Their Dayna had been a force of nature by sheer energy, _this_ Dayna seemed to contain that force, rather like a volcano – all the more dangerous when it finally erupted. At least she hadn’t come carrying a gun.

“And you have met me,” Dayna said, “or so I hear.”

“No more you than River is me,” Avon responded. He had his hands folded loosely in his lap, defying the fact that the round of exercise had exhausted him, as Vila well knew.

“You go by Mellanby?” Vila asked, just to say something.

Dayna arched one of her beautiful eyebrows. “Yours didn’t?”

“No. She wasn’t a rebel leader either.” Avon’s lips quirked. “Not that I would have claimed that title even for myself, given the chance.”

Dayna – Mellanby – looked puzzled. “ _Dayna_ is fine – Mellanby had clout with the rebel forces, which is why I use it. My father–”

“Still alive?” Avon asked. Vila remembered Avon telling him and Cally what had happened on Sarran – remembered Dayna’s raw grief, though she’d hid it well and certainly hadn’t accepted any sympathy from Vila.

Mellanby shook her head. “No. He passed a few months ago.”

“I’m sorry. Natural causes?”

Again, her eyebrows arched. “Yes. I take it that wasn’t the case in your universe.”

“No, it wasn’t.” Avon’s tone made it clear that he wasn’t going to elaborate.

“Then this universe must be better,” Mellanby said, and Vila was abruptly reminded of the single-minded naïveté that had characterised Dayna as much as her love of weapons.

When Vila glanced over, he found Avon’s gaze steadily on him, fondness shining in his eyes. “I wouldn’t necessarily say that.”

“Well, we are going to make it better. You have the antidote to Pylene 50?”

Avon looked away from Vila slowly, almost reluctantly. “We have an inoculation. A skilled pharmacologist might be able to turn it into an antidote, but…” He shrugged. “It’s not my field.”

“With Blake behind us, we will find someone.”

“I wish you luck.”

“Ah. I see it would be a waste of time to ask you to join us. We could use a computer expert – and a thief.”

“One of these days,” Vila mumbled, mostly to himself, “I want someone to refer to us as the embezzler and the expert lock smith.”

Avon grinned and reached over, taking Vila’s hand. “I’m afraid we ought to return to _our_ universe sooner rather than later. If it can be done. They are missing their Chancellor.”

Mellanby looked Vila up and down, and he was sure she was wondering how someone like him could be important, important enough for Avon to love him, important enough to be a successful politician. Vila had seen that kind of gaze from their Dayna, too. She might never have been as open in her disregard as Tarrant, at least not for as long as they still had the _Liberator_ , but he knew that she hadn’t held a very high opinion of him. “Well. You must be more than you seem,” she said, probably meaning to sound conciliatory.

Avon grinned sharply, no real humour in his eyes. “Oh, he is.” His hand felt heavy and warm around Vila’s.

Dayna looked startled, then apologetic. “I’m sorry… Vila. That wasn’t very diplomatic of me. You both took me by surprise, that’s all.”

“It’s all right, Dayna,” Vila said, trying to lighten the mood. “Avon has that effect on people.”

Mellanby smiled and stood, allowing Vila again to admire her beauty as he so often had Dayna’s, from a safe distance. “I shall keep that in mind. Now, if you both feel up to it, I think you should attend our next council meeting. We are on the way to a rendezvous location, and have already spoken to a representative of a planet that offered its resources to produce the antidote.”

“Which planet?” Avon asked, a hard edge in his voice. His hand had tightened on Vila’s.

Mellanby paused, clearly surprised by the change in tone. “Both Lindor and Destiny have offered. Blake is in favour of Destiny, as it is further from the old Federation space lanes. Why?”

Avon relaxed visibly. “Oh, nothing.” He smiled, but it wasn’t a real smile this time either. “We will be on the flight deck later.”

“Will we?” Vila asked. He was suddenly reluctant to leave their little bubble, especially if leaving meant becoming involved in the rebellion again. He had been restless, yes – but for a return to their universe, not for the political affairs of this one.

Avon ignored him, not unkindly, his thumb brushing over Vila’s skin even as his attention was entirely focussed on Mellanby. “Thank you for coming by,” he told her with excessive politeness, “you’ll understand if we don’t see you to the door.”

She nodded, evidently failing to catch Avon’s lack of sincerity. “I will speak to you both later.” With that she was gone, the door falling shut behind her.

Avon sighed, his posture slumping. “I want it over with, Vila.”

“It can’t be much longer – can it? You’ve been working on it with River all this time. How about we take Blake to Destiny, and have them get the antidote production underway, and then we get Zen to make the jump and take River’s ship and go.” Vila cast his mind back, trying to remember the star maps of their universe. Destiny had fared better than many other farming planets, independent from the climate control of Star One, and spared from any attempts to chemically subdue the population as their location was non-strategic and the population not given to rebellion. Vila doubted that the Federation had ever even known that they, _Blake’s people_ , had saved the planet, once. “It should be safe enough – and there is a relay station on Destiny, isn’t there? We could get a message to Earth.”

Avon withdrew his hand from Vila’s and rubbed his thigh instead. “Yes. The relay station is too far off the usual space lanes to find a ship quickly that will take us back to Earth, and River’s won’t get us far – but we can get in touch with Cal and have her send someone to pick us up.” His mouth twitched. “Always provided they still want us.”

Cal Wye was in charge of the space fleet. Avon had never liked her much, as Vila knew only too well, but she was a steadfast and competent minister. She had been with Avalon as an engineer at one point, and she had a better understanding of ship classifications and space lanes than Vila could ever hope to acquire. She was also one of the few ministers that had proven unfailingly loyal to Vila, supporting him in the cabinet and offering her help when she knew more than he did without judgement or hesitation. Vila thought that that, perhaps, was the reason why Avon had learned to tolerate her.

Vila scanned Avon’s face, finding it curiously closed off. It was more that could be explained by his usual pessimism, more even than could be ascribed to the pain in his knee. “Something is bothering you.”

Avon swung his legs up onto the bed and settled back, refusing to answer.

“I never thought to ask. Do _you_ want to stay, Avon?”

“No, of course not,” Avon said, but he sounded distracted.

“We could, you know,” Vila told him, shifting so he was sitting by his hip facing him, instead of by his side. “I don’t want to fight the Federation all over again, definitely not on my own. But if you want to stay, because of Cally and Blake, I’ll stay, too. I never much liked being a Chancellor, anyway, and I’d rather be by your side.”

Avon smiled faintly. “I don’t want to stay, Vila.”

“Are you sure? You aren’t just saying that because I–”

“I’m sure. As soon as Pylene 50 is stopped in its tracks, we will head home. Why do you think River and I have been working on it?”

But Vila had to be sure. “You missed Cally. And Blake.”

“So did you.”

“Yeh, but…”

Avon shook his head. “They are dead, Vila. Talking to their counterparts won’t bring them back to life, and it won’t erase my role in their deaths. I hope they survive here, and I intend to do what I can to set them on a path to destroy the Federation that runs smoother than ours, but I cannot predict the future, nor is this my fight.” He shifted, bending his leg, and Vila moved a pillow under his knee unthinkingly, so used to taking care of Avon that even such a small sign of discomfort was enough to make him act and only realise what he had done afterwards.

“Have you ever come across time-travel narratives, Vila?” Avon asked suddenly, taking him by surprise.

“In forbidden fiction.”

“Yes…” Avon looked at him thoughtfully for an instant, then flicked his gaze back to a contemplation of the ceiling. “Already this universe is different from ours. But I cannot help wondering whether in trying to help, we might not make it worse. My luck has never been the best, and I’d rather not take that responsibility.”

“But Blake is calling the shots.”

“Is he? You know as well as I do that what we choose to tell – or not tell – him will determine his moves. And River – do I teach him everything I know about Zen’s programming? Do I rebuild Orac? Do I tell them of the alias _she_ hasn’t even decided on yet, might never use now that we are unlikely to ever go to Terminal? Do I give them the coordinates of that planet off Calcos, at the edge of the Outer Darkness, give them the means to replicate the _Liberator_ before the Federation becomes aware that Moloch exists? If it exists? We could send Blake on a hundred wild goose chases, and none of it might be of any use. Pylene 50 needs to be stopped – but who knows what will come after it. I don’t want to make these decisions, Vila. I can’t.”

Vila had never quite thought of it like that – hadn’t thought of how much worth the knowledge that Avon and he had gathered over the years might have, here. The circumstances had seemed so different – he was _dead_ , for one! – that he hadn’t thought any of their experiences might have _any_ worth for Blake. And certainly Blake hadn’t thought to ask, not once he had satisfied his curiosity about what had happened to them. But Avon was right. It didn’t stop with the antitoxin to Pylene 50, something which Blake might have found on his own soon enough, especially with Cally urging him on. There were all the things they had stumbled upon quite by chance that could make or break Blake’s success, but how could they possibly predict which might be which?

Vila understood, suddenly, what had been bothering Avon – he was afraid. These were the types of decisions he had been forced to make as their leader, without the benefit of foreknowledge, and it had all ended in disaster. Vila had always had his entire staff, his cabinet to fall back on, and failing that, he had had Avon and Del Grant and all the others that had helped him – he had never needed to make a decision entirely on his own, nor had the stakes ever seemed quite so high, and he found he didn’t want the responsibility either.

Desperate to lighten the mood, Vila ran over Avon’s words in his head, to find something to crack a joke about, and discovered just the thing: “Could you rebuild Orac?”

Avon looked at him for a moment in utter surprise, then laughed, the shadows receding from his eyes. “Perhaps, Vila, perhaps. Something like it, anyway. I have thought about trying for a while now – it was to be my project when I settled on that research station by the Outer Planets. I can do it just as well on Earth.”

Vila snapped his head up to meet Avon’s gaze, and found him smiling. Avon nodded once, confirming that Vila had understood him just fine, and Vila thought his heart might burst. He leant forward, bracing himself on either side of Avon on the mattress, and pressed a kiss onto Avon’s lovely, lovely smile.


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thought I would let you know that I'm done editing and hope to be posting a chapter regularly every week now except for mayyybee doing one cliffhanger! (Unless I end up changing something, there are 18 chapters and an epilogue, and just about 100k words in this whole fic :))

Now that they had emerged from their cabin, Avon had known that it was only a question of time. They were on route to Destiny where they would meet with delegates of other rebel factions – on the surface, to discuss what to do about the pacification programme, in reality, to discuss how to distribute the antidote. They’d thought it prudent not to talk of the existence of the formula in any communication channels, but the horrors of the new pacification programme had spread far enough to spark a need for coordination in the fragmented rebels – not unlike it had in their own universe.

While there were still in flight, there was nothing much to do. Cally had come to see them in Vila’s cabin, as had River, and even Dayna – Mellanby, as she preferred to be called in this universe. That left Blake.

Avon had been expecting him, and so he wasn’t surprised when Blake cornered him in the kitchen where he had retreated to rest. His knee still wouldn’t stand for too much exertion – Avon suspected that he was paying not only for the little excursion to Sarran, but also for how he had overtaxed himself before that. At least, some of the emotional turmoil had settled now, and he felt much calmer – calm enough even for an argument with Blake without Vila by his side, or he might have excused himself, whether Blake stood in the way or not.

“Avon,” Blake said by the way of a greeting, picked out fruit from the bowl that sat on the cooling unit and pulled out a chair for himself.

Avon watched him, closing his hands around his drink – a vitamin mixture, something to keep up his strength. He was eating better now that the pain had returned to levels he had become used to over the years, but it couldn’t do any harm to have some extra nutrients – or so Cally had said. “Well, Blake?”

Blake eyed him, looking more at ease on his _Liberator_ than when they had been sitting in Avon’s suite – it seemed a lifetime ago, now, that they’d had those conversations. “I wanted to talk to you.”

“Yes.” Avon leant back, stretching his leg. “Talk, then.”

“You saved our lives on Sarran.”

Not precisely the opening to the conversation Avon had expected. Somehow, he managed a snarl like he would have of old. “I wasn’t saving your lives.”

Blake smiled. “Oh, I know. It was pure self-interest.”

 _Ah_. Avon suppressed the smile. So he could still surprise Blake. “No. I was saving _Vila’s_. You and River were incidental.”

Blake swallowed hard on a bite of his fruit – Avon had seen that sort of fruit before, cut to slices as a dessert when Cally had brought them food to Vila’s cabin. Something Dayna – _Mellanby_ – had provided them with, no doubt. It looked vaguely like an apple, but he could be fairly sure it wasn’t.

“I see,” Blake said slowly, his voice catching.

“Don’t choke,” Avon told him and found that he meant in genuine concern, too. Oh, Blake. Avon had never had time to pause and consider how he felt about Blake’s presence, not properly, not with everything else happening. It had been so much easier to just… let Blake be Blake and deal with everything else first. Even confessing his feelings to Vila, apparently, something he had been avoiding for decades. He hadn’t even set out to argue with Blake now, he realised – but already they were well on their way to a fight, as if it hadn’t been decades since Avon had really spoken to his Blake, as if this Blake didn’t have River to have these habitual arguments with.

Blake smiled wryly. “Concern, Avon?”

Avon shrugged. Once, he knew, he would have denied it, but there seemed little point to it now. Blake had already seen what killing him had done to Avon, and if that hadn’t already proven Blake’s claim that Avon was human like the rest of them admitting to this wouldn’t, either. “If you like. You didn’t come here to talk about Sarran, Blake.”

“No.” Blake set the fruit down on the table and settled his hands loosely around it. “We could use your help, you know. Yours and Vila’s. I spoke to River, and he thinks it’s going to take him at least three years of intensive study to catch up with your knowledge of computers and the _Liberator_ in particular.”

Avon allowed himself a small smile at that.

“And no one is better than Vila when it comes to locks,” Blake went on. “You both have knowledge that could be invaluable to us. I won’t ask you to put yourself in danger – one of us needs to stay on the ship anyway, without Orac here to monitor. Mellanby is thinking of staying – we could be a full crew again, Avon.”

For a moment, Avon was almost sorry for him. “Vila and I aren’t staying, Blake.”

“Why not?”

“Need you ask? We don’t _belong_ in this universe, Blake. If – _when_ we get the chance to return to ours, we will. You already have one Kerr Avon on board this ship, you don’t need a second. And as for Vila, he is needed on Earth.”

“And by you,” Blake said, possibly meaning for it to hurt. It no longer did.

“Yes, and by me. This isn’t our fight. Our fight is _over_.”

“Is that it, then? Sitting in a suite on Earth bored and in pain and with only Vila for company is your Happily Ever After?”

Despite himself, irritation boiled up in Avon. He tightened his grip on his glass. “For the last time, Blake, I am _always_ in pain. I suppose you expect me to deny it? There is no _Happily Ever After_ , not for anybody, and certainly not for us. Face it, Blake – your precious Cause broke us, and this isn’t something that you – that _anyone_ can fix. Vila and I are lucky to have survived at all, or perhaps we are cursed. I haven’t quite decided.” He smiled, and knew from the look on Blake’s face that it had come across as disconcerting as he had meant it. “Real life doesn’t have happy endings, Blake. The fear and pain and trauma don’t just go away once it’s over, and if you believe otherwise, you really are still dreaming. You can be sure of only one thing – there will be a death at the end. Until then, I intend to enjoy what I paid for – with my pain, my sanity, and very nearly my life. I won’t let you, or anyone, sway me from that course, Blake. Not anymore. Not this time.”

Blake looked simultaneously disquieted and annoyed. Well. Avon hadn’t expected him to give up on the argument immediately, not even if he said more than he intended to say.

 “What about the rest of the galaxy?” Blake asked.

“What about it? The rest of _my_ galaxy is at peace, Blake.”

“Dammit, Avon, aren’t we real to you? Cally, and River and Mellanby – me – aren’t we as real as you are?”

“Are _we_?”

“Of course!”

“Then why is the fate of your universe more important than ours? Or had you forgotten that Vila is Chancellor on Earth? If you won’t listen to personal arguments, then consider that. Our absence will already have caused disruption – even now, our universe might see upheaval on a scale it hasn’t seen since the end of the Federation. We will stay for as long as we must and not a moment longer. _If_ it should turn out that we can’t return, we will reconsider – but unless that eventuality occurs, this conversation is closed.”

“Avon…”

Avon climbed stiffly to his feet, unwilling to face him any longer. “Damn you, Blake, can’t you see that Vila and I have nothing left to give? You _saw_ what your one little mission to Sarran did to us. Can’t you be satisfied before every one of your followers has died for your Cause?” He put the glass into the cleaner and stood there, leaning heavily onto the counter. He hadn’t _wanted_ to argue, but – damn the man!

Blake was still there, quiet behind him. Unexpectedly, Blake sighed deeply and said, “I am sorry, Avon.”

Avon chanced a glance at him. He _looked_ sorry – all belligerence gone from the set of his shoulders. “You’re sorry?”

Blake nodded, not meeting his eyes. He brushed his hand over his lips. “Yes. You’re right. I shouldn’t ask any more of you, of you both.”

“Don’t try to pity or manipulate me, Blake!”

Blake lifted a placating hand. “I wasn’t aware that I was trying. I shall miss you when you’re gone – and Vila. But you _are_ right – you aren’t mine to command. I lost my chance with Vila when he died in Central Control. Avon – River, that is – seems to be willing to give it a second go. That is all I can ask.”

Avon leant back against the counter and folded his arms. “Well now.”

“You sound surprised. Aren’t you usually right?”

“Frequently. The Blake I knew would not have given in – in fact, as I recall he could be quite blind to the strain others were under.”

Blake smiled faintly. “One of my many flaws, Avon?”

“Just beware that it doesn’t become your deadliest.” For a moment, a different image rose before his eyes – a base on Gauda Prime, and an older Blake, scarred and incomprehensible. Avon shook his head, chasing the memory away. “If travel between universes is possible,” he said into the silence that had settled over the kitchen, “then perhaps communication is, too. Vila would like to keep in touch with Cally and you.”

Blake seemed to unfreeze abruptly, taking another bite out of the fruit and chewing slowly. “And you, Avon?”

“Me? Oh, yes, I see.” Avon smiled. “What do you need to hear, Blake? That the chance to speak to the people I killed will change my life? That I might get a happy ending, after all?”

“I thought you didn’t believe in happy endings.”

“No, I don’t. Bear that in mind, Blake, when you think you’re being kind.”

Avon left Blake there to contemplate his half-eaten fruit and returned to the flight deck, putting the argument firmly behind him and focussing on his steps instead. He still wore a light knee brace and needed to rely more on his stick to keep him upright, but they had found a slow-release pain killer in the _Liberator_ ’s stock that seemed to agree with him, and altogether Avon hardly noticed any difference to how he had felt before his contacts had send him the security footage of Blake. He would prefer to get rid of the brace and lower the dose on the medication eventually, but with the walking distances on the _Liberator_ he would rather have the walking stick handy at any rate. He couldn’t exactly say that it weighed heavily on his mind.

Vila was on the flight deck already, chatting with Cally and Mellanby. It sounded like he was telling them an embellished story of one of his exploits during the later days on the _Liberator_. Cally, on watch, listened indulgently, and Mellanby seemed increasingly intrigued by Vila – well, Avon couldn’t blame her.

On this _Liberator_ , both he and Vila had returned to old patterns of behaviour, ones that would not have been out of place on their _Liberator_ , under Blake. Avon knew that Vila found it a release; to himself it just felt like another façade, but one he had been accustomed to putting on for strangers and the cabinet, for anyone that wasn’t Vila and Del Grant, if he was perfectly honest. Avon had let it slip, now and then, since they had come on board – mostly because it was hard to maintain when he was in pain – but it tended to disturb people to see how his life had affected him. Blake was a case in point, and, most of all, Avon didn’t want the pity that inevitably followed the shock. It was easier, much less time-consuming to pretend he hadn’t changed much from the man recently convicted of one of the greatest computer frauds the Federation had ever seen who now found himself on the most powerful ship in the galaxy, never mind that he had been hiding things even then – and that he now barely recognised that man as himself.

Vila was just happy not to have to take any responsibility, or make any decisions. As accomplished as he was as Chancellor, the fool’s façade was his way of relaxing, as Avon well knew, having seen Vila put it on when he came to see Avon in the evenings. Avon had never been quite sure which was the real Vila – the effable, harmless coward, or the shrewd, keenly and originally intelligent cracksman and politician; lately, he had started to think that it might well simply be both.

Avon listened from the entrance to the flight deck for a while, until he recognised the tale Vila was telling – the time they had stumbled across that computer world that had nearly cost Cally’s life –and his own. Well, Vila _had_ saved the day, then. Avon walked down the stairs, and Vila interrupted himself mid-sentence and looked up to meet his gaze. “Avon!” he exclaimed and sounded genuinely delighted to see him.

Avon paused, trying to shake the image of the Vila that used to belong on the _Liberator_ , the one that would complain every time he was asked to stay or come along with Avon, except when they went on some avarice-driven side trip behind Blake’s back. Avon had never taken the complaining seriously; it had just been part of how they worked together. It had been so much part of their relationship on the _Liberator_ , not unlike their verbal back and forth, that its absence, here, temporarily threw Avon. The change certainly hadn’t been recent, even if Avon disregarded Vila’s claim that he had been in love with him all along, proving his protests just another façade from the beginning. After Blake was gone, and certainly after the _Liberator_ and Cally were, Vila had much preferred to stay by Avon’s side than Tarrant’s and had made that fact known, too. But all that had been a long time ago, no matter what their surroundings suggested.

Avon found himself smiling back.

“Vila!” Mellanby plucked at Vila’s sleeve, and for an instant looked exactly like the Dayna Avon remembered. “Don’t stop there!”

“Yes,” Avon said, sliding into his station, “don’t let me stop you. You were just getting to the bit where you saved the day.”

Vila puffed up his chest comically in mock offense. “I did, too! You don’t have to make it sound so sarcastic!” He delved back into the tale where he had left off, keeping surprisingly close to the reality now that he knew he had a listener who had been there. For a moment, Avon allowed himself to linger on the melancholic thought that he and Vila were the only people still living who _had_ witnessed the events. Bleak reality or no, it didn’t change the fact that Vila was a gifted storyteller when he wanted to be.

Mellanby looked dubious when Vila finally wound down. “You mean you spouted nonsense and that broke it?”

“Well, yes – how did you put it, Avon?”

Avon looked up from his routine systems’ check and smiled at the memory. “A logical, rational intelligence is no match for yours?”

Vila beamed. “Right! That was it.”

Avon still wasn’t sure if Vila had known, then, what Avon had admitted, what else he had come very close to admitting in the middle of the flight deck, in front of all the others. He wasn’t even sure whether Vila knew now as he was soaking up Mellanby’s grudging admiration and Cally’s gentle smile. Then, suddenly, Vila spoke up: “Hey, Avon? Let’s get married.”

Avon was so taken by surprise that, if he had been holding anything at all, he would have dropped it. He stared at Vila, who grinned cheekily back. Avon had got too good at reading Vila over the years not to be able to tell when he told a blatant lie – no, Vila meant what he had said. Avon couldn’t seem to come up with a better response, and so, knowing that Vila wouldn’t take it the wrong way, he voiced the single thought chasing about his head: “What for?”

“It’ll be fun. We can have a ceremony and a party, and then it will be on the public records.” Vila bounded over to stand before Avon’s console, his eyes gleaming. “Years from now, when they look up the first Chancellor of the New Federation, they’ll see that he was pair-bonded, and to whom.”

“Being a marginal note in the historical records isn’t terribly appealing, Vila,” Avon said, but he couldn’t stop the answering smile from spreading on his face.

“Too late to do anything about that, anyway. And I’d rather have them remember that than… other things.” Vila’s happy, carefree expression faltered slightly.

“Yes…” Avon said, not entirely sure what he was agreeing to.

Vila reached across the console, laying his hand on Avon’s where it rested limply by the controls. “Back in the olden days,” he said, almost conspiratorially, “ship captains could marry people.”

“Don’t be ridiculous, Vila.”

“Aww, you love it, though.”

“Heaven help me.”

Vila beamed, intertwining their fingers. “Think about it, Avon. We can do it properly when we’re back, in front of state witnesses and all, but let’s have a ceremony while we’re here. With friends.”

Avon didn’t dare glance over at the others, fixing his gaze on his and Vila’s hands instead. “I can’t ask Blake to marry us!”

“You can’t ask me what, Avon?” came an amused voice from behind him and Avon froze. Vila looked mildly alarmed and squeezed Avon’s hand.

Blake stepped to their side, his body filling the empty space in the corner of Avon’s eye as he desperately concentrated on looking anywhere but at Blake. Blake’s hand settled gently on his arm. “I would be honoured, Avon, and Vila,” he said sincerely, “but I will not take the decision out of your hands.”

Avon almost agreed right then and there, the memory of over a year of wishing he could hand back the responsibility for the whole mess back to Blake burning brightly. Let Blake make the impossible decisions. Let Blake take the responsibility he’d never wanted. Let Blake be the one to bear the guilt and the blame when things went wrong. Let Blake be the one to fail, let Blake be the one who got people killed. But Avon couldn’t, not about this. This wasn’t the rebellion, this had nothing to do with Blake; this was personal. This was something he wanted, desperately _needed_ to decide on his own.

 The subject of marriage had never come up in Avon’s life before. Anna had been pair-bonded already, to a man she didn’t love, and the ceremony had seemed irrelevant to both her and Avon, and – Anna had never really existed in the first place. Avon tightened his grip on Vila’s hand.

“Thank you, Blake,” Vila said softly, and Blake’s hand vanished from Avon’s arm. Blake walked to the front of the flight deck to sit down on the sofa by Mellanby.

“Avon?”

Avon looked up, meeting Vila’s concerned gaze.

“I’m sorry,” Vila said sotto-voce while Blake struck up an overly loud conversation with Mellanby and Cally. For once, Avon was grateful for Blake’s ability to command a room, and for the rare display of true tact.

“What for?” Avon asked Vila, still feeling dazed.

“I shouldn’t have sprung it on you like that, not in front of the others. I love you.”

Avon frowned. “I know that.”

Vila lifted their hands and pressed a gently kiss on Avon’s knuckles. “Will you think about it?”

“Yes. Yes, Vila, I’ll think about it.”

Vila grinned and let go of Avon’s hand. He strolled back to the sofa where he sat down next to Blake and smiled at Avon across the distance. Avon flicked his gaze away and caught Cally’s eyes instead. He found her smiling ever benignly and encouragingly. Ah well. If he had just ruined River’s reputation, then so be it. He couldn’t bring himself to give a damn about his own.

“Well, Vila?” Blake spoke up. “Busy planning your happy ending?”

“Happy endings are for fairy tales,” Vila answered immediately, and Avon gleefully met Blake’s gaze and grinned.

 

The journey to Destiny suddenly seemed almost too short. As much as he wanted to return to their universe, and put right whatever had gone wrong in his absence to the best of his ability, Vila was incredibly aware of the fact that, if the meeting with the rebel leaders went according to plan, his and Avon’s time in _this_ universe was quickly running out. Already he’d found Avon and River sticking their heads together in River’s ship, making sure it was space-worthy and would withstand another dimensional jump. The _Liberator_ might be designed for it, River said, but the fact that his ship had survived had been pure chance. Vila was all in favour of improving that chance. Better be stuck on a small ship than have to stay on one of the incredibly tiny relay stations. Still, it all reminded him that sooner rather than later he would have to say his goodbyes.

It wouldn’t be easy. Rationally, Vila knew they weren’t the people that had died, the people he really missed – but they were close enough. Even River was being nice to him, now that he no longer had to worry about stepping on Avon’s toes. Vila knew that Blake had had an argument with Avon – he had _always_ known when Avon had been arguing with Blake – but Blake seemed to try his hardest not to let it show. He was being gentle and charismatic and full of energy, without any of the ruthless fanaticism that had characterised _their_ Blake just before Star One – before they’d lost him and stopped knowing him entirely. Vila wasn’t even an amateur psychiatrist, but he thought that perhaps Blake’s belief that he could win had been given a boost by his visit to their universe. If anything, Cally was the most driven of them all, having just witnessed the horrors of Pylene 50 and the destruction of her home planet, and not having seen that things had turned out all right even though their universe had had its own share of horrors.

Vila sat with her one night, just chatting. He told her what had happened to their Cally then, though he hadn’t meant to – had meant to be there for _her_ , not burden her further. But kind, caring Cally seemed to appreciate the chance to offer her sympathies in return. Vila hadn’t talked about guilt, hadn’t given her quite all the details of how they had come to be on Terminal, how Cally had come to be the only one trapped in the exploding base, but Cally had seemed to sense that he needed some kind of emotional reassurance anyway. It felt a bit wrong, taking the reassurance without telling her just whose fault it had been, but Vila couldn’t bring himself to mention it, not when this had supposed to be about Cally’s grief in the first place. Still, Vila thought she might try to speak to Avon about it, too, now that she was under the impression that she knew what had happened and seemed satisfied that she had put Vila’s mind at ease. Vila thought that Avon might hear her out now, as well, even if it became evident that Vila hadn’t given her the full picture, though whether it would do anything to help...

Though Avon seemed much better, much more at ease. Better, even, than he had been on Earth before this whole thing had started. Perhaps, Vila thought, he just needed to be in space again. Perhaps Vila could talk to Grant when they got back, get him to take Avon along for a round trip – no responsibilities, those were Grant’s. Just to get away from Earth and its politics, if it relaxed him so much.

Vila didn’t dare think that the contentment Avon was radiating had anything to do with him, didn’t dare ask, either. The most he was comfortable admitting was that perhaps the new emotional frankness and publicity of their relationship had been a contributing factor, just as it had put Vila more at ease with Avon, but his presence by Avon’s side wasn’t new, after all. It was where they had always been for all those very long years – by each other’s side, one of – no, the only consistent touchstone in both their lives.

Vila strolled towards the flight deck, looking for company, when he heard raised voices. He slowed down, listening. Blake – and Avon, of course – no, River.

“Don’t you see, Avon?” Blake was saying.

“Oh yes, I _do_ see,” River answered, voice cutting. “But you can’t do it.”  

Vila stepped onto the flight deck. “Something I missed?” he said brightly, and River and Blake stepped away from each other immediately, cutting the argument short at his appearance. Blake turned his back on River, clearly angry, and River stiffened his shoulders, folding his hands in the small of his back.

“Nothing of importance, Vila,” River told him, but anger was in his precise diction and frozen posture, and Vila didn’t believe him.

“Oh, good, then,” he said lightly. “Say, Blake, you wouldn’t know what Mellanby is cooking up in the cargo hold, would you? There were some very strange noises.”

Blake almost shook himself, and when he turned to Vila, his face was carefully neutral. “I’m sure it’s only weapons practice, Vila.”

“Well, check, would you? It’s making me nervous.”

A slight smile of indulgence curled Blake’s lips. “All right, Vila, I will check.” With a stormy glare at River, Blake walked out.

Vila watched some of the tension drop from River’s shoulders as Blake’s steps faded down the corridor. Vila stepped further onto the flight deck, leaning against the force wall generator. “Will you tell me what that was about?”

River met Vila’s gaze for only a second, lips twitching with still-present anger. “No. It needn’t concern you.”

“Right. You’d feel better if you did, you know.”

This time, River glared. “I’m not _your_ Avon, Vila.”

“That doesn’t mean it won’t make you feel better.”

River unfroze abruptly, and walked past him, heading for his station. “No, Vila. Now go and find company elsewhere.”

Vila knew there was no point in arguing, not with Avon in a mood like that – not with _this_ Avon. So grudgingly he did as he was told, and went to find someone else. Mellanby really was in the cargo holds, and Blake was heading there, and Vila didn’t want to talk to him now nor step in front of Dayna Mellanby when she was handling a gun. Instead, he headed towards the rec room. In the corridor towards it, he ran across Avon, who smiled brightly at him and caught his arm.

“Vila! I was looking for you.”

His cheerful happiness was such a contrast to River’s sullen brooding that Vila almost couldn’t believe that they were, essentially, the same man – if he hadn’t seen this Avon in the same dark moods before. “You were?” Vila asked nervously, then realised he was slipping into old behaviour patterns, and straightened his back, catching Avon’s hand.

Avon was watching him curiously. “All right, Vila?”

“Listen, can we go to my cabin? I need to talk to you, in private.”

Avon stopped smiling and stepped aside with a nod, his grip on his stick tightening ever so slightly. “Lead the way.”

Vila relaxed fractionally when the lock of his cabin cycled behind them, barring entrance to everyone else on the ship. He’d made some improvements on it while they’d been recovering from Sarran, tinkering with this circuit and that while Avon was busy finding out just how Zen had dragged them across universes. If Vila were inclined to examine his motivations, he might have had to acknowledge that Sarran had panicked him and that the new lock made him feel safe, but Vila wasn’t, so he happily ignored all of that, and would keep on happily ignoring it.

Avon sat down at the table without waiting for an invitation – they had taken to more or less sharing the cabin, so it felt only natural.

“Well?” Avon asked, his voice gentle.

“I walked in on Blake and River arguing on the flight deck.”

Avon looked surprised for a moment, then, infuriatingly, broke out laughing. “You saw other- _me_ arguing with Blake and thought it warranted a secret council? Vila, I used to argue with Blake almost every day.”

Vila bristled slightly in defence. “Well, River and Blake didn’t seem to do that! Besides, this was different!”

“All right. Why was it different?”

Vila paced up and down. It was a habit he’d picked up from Avon, he was sure, despite the fact that Avon was rarely on his feet for no reason these days. “You should have seen them! They practically jumped apart when I walked in! Which makes me think they didn’t want me to hear. What could they have been talking about that they didn’t want me to hear?” He turned back to Avon, and found him looking thoughtful. “River said _you can’t do that_ , or something like that. They were both angry, and River wouldn’t say what they’d fought about.”

Avon rubbed his hand across his lips, a sign that he was uncomfortable and in thought. Vila had first seen it on the _London_ , before they’d properly known each other, and then more frequently again since Avon had stopped caring whether Vila saw his discomfort. “I have a suspicion,” he said finally, “but I could be wrong, of course.”

“Let’s hear it.”

“The question of our staying here.”

“What!”

Avon shrugged. “I wouldn’t be surprised if they were… of different opinions, shall we say?”

“Why would River want you to stay? It’s awkward – you know more than he does, _and_ you got to keep the name.”

“Oh, not River – _Blake_ wanted us to stay. He came to talk to me about it; I told him we wouldn’t. I suppose I should have known that wouldn’t settle the matter – unless I’m wrong. If you go on overhearing things, Vila, perhaps you should start paying more attention to the content.”

Vila threw up his hands. “This is the exact kind of thing I don’t want to be dealing with in the cabinet! People having clandestine discussions behind closed doors, spinning intrigues!”

Avon’s lips curled with amusement. “Like the two of us, you mean.”

“No! Yes…” Vila deflated, sinking down on the bed. He suddenly felt tired. “Avon..:”

“Don’t worry. I can take over the _Liberator_ ’s computers with just a few lines of code, and even River will need a few days to get around that. I don’t want to do it, but if that’s the only way to get us home, I will.”

“Great. Just as I was starting to feel comfortable.”

Avon leant forward, taking Vila’s hands in his. “I could be wrong, Vila. For all we know, they were discussing letting Dayna make dinner.”

“‘s not very likely, is it?”

“No. But I think we are both more paranoid than the situation warrants, don’t you?”

“It’s kept us alive.”

“Yes, against the Federation.” Avon drew back, and Vila suddenly knew exactly what he was thinking. Avon had never had an easy relationship with trust.

“Sorry, Avon,” he rushed, babbling, “I’m sure you’re right and I’m overreacting. River did say it needn’t concern me. Don’t look like that.”

Avon’s gaze returned from the distance, and he smiled faintly. “It’s all right, Vila.” He inhaled deeply and deliberately. “Now, while we’re on the subject of dinner…”


	14. Chapter 14

Vila didn’t walk in on any other arguments – if there was anything still left to resolve about the two of them in Blake’s mind, he didn’t bring it up, and River didn’t say a word on the subject either. He didn’t even seem angry at Blake anymore, as if he really had meant it when he said that Vila didn’t have to worry. Vila almost started to think that Avon _had_ been wrong, and the argument had just been another one of those things between Blake and, well, River. Perhaps they _had_ resolved it where Vila couldn’t walk in on them.

And, frankly, there wasn’t the time to indulge in little worries. As they closed on Destiny, they started receiving calls from the leaders of other rebel fractions. The messages were always heavily encoded, of course, but between Zen and two versions of Avon, that was hardly an obstacle. The codes were a sensible precaution. Clearly the rebels that had been in contact with Mellanby had learned caution, and a gathering of the leaders and representatives of several rebel fractions could not risk attracting too much attention. Especially not with Blake there. And so, the messages came in short, random bursts, on strange wavelengths and obscure channels, doubly and triply encrypted. They mostly carried variations of the same very brief greetings for Mellanby, for Blake, for both. Since they had kept the fact that they already had a formula for a Pylene 50 antitoxin out of the invitation for the meeting, there was hardly anything else the attendees _could_ mention, anyway. All things considered, Vila found the niceties all rather pointless, but Mellanby and Blake’s combined fame seemed to make the rebel leaders think they should not be outdone in their greetings.

There was no Orac to monitor Federation movement, but intelligence from Mellanby’s spies and sensor data from Destiny and the _Liberator_ suggested that what remained of the organised Federation fleet was engaged in the full-scale pacification effort that had steamrolled Auron. It was one thing to drug the population into compliance, another to stick around and give them orders _to_ comply. No one seemed to be paying attention to them, which was just as well. The thought of a race against pursuit ships didn’t exactly do Vila’s stomach any good, and he couldn’t bring himself to worry about an argument that neither Avon seemed to be overly concerned about under the circumstances.

Though Vila didn’t think much of the messages after the tenth cordial _Greeting to B and M_ , the encoded missives kept everyone busy, to the point where River and Avon coordinated their time awake so they could work on them around the clock and at least be certain that there was nothing _vital_ amongst the social niceties. Avon seemed to love the challenge, innocuous as it was, though Vila couldn’t shake the feeling that he was looking at every greeting with suspicion as well – more suspicion, at least, than he had showed towards the argument Vila had overheard. However, when Cally came up to them as they were having lunch with yet another data reader and an apologetic expression, even Avon’s enjoyment was at an end.

“Another one?” he commented wearily, laying down the cutlery and taking the reader from Cally’s hands with a scowl. “I don’t recall Blake being quite this popular.”

“Pylene 50’s got them scared,” Vila put in, watching Avon’s fingers dance over the controls of the small hand-held. “You know how it was.”

“Yes, I remember,” Avon agreed absently. His working speed had gone down, Vila observed – ever more frequently, he was spending longer on the decryption than the message length warranted. Avon entered something into the device, then freed his hand to spear up a piece of vegetable with his fork as it worked. He never got around to eating it, as the device pinged its readiness, and the fork immediately slid from suddenly nerveless fingers.

Alarmed, Vila started to his feet at the same time as Avon stood abruptly – too abruptly, prompting Cally to reach out to catch him, if needed. But Avon caught his balance on the desk, and waved her away. “Go and shake Blake awake. River, too, if you can. We need to talk.”

Cally looked at him in worry for a moment longer, then hurried off.

“What is it?” Vila asked, stepping to Avon’s side.

Avon held the reader out to him. “The message is from Betafarl. A delegation is on its way.”

“Betafarl? But that’s –”

“Zukan. Yes. I wonder just how long-standing his alliance with _her_ was.”

Even after all these years since her death, Avon’s voice still dripped with pure hatred when he was forced to mention Servalan. Back on Xenon base, with the oxygen running out, they hadn’t known why Zukan had betrayed them, only that he had. Even after being rescued, Servalan’s involvement had been nothing but a suspicion of Avon’s, and by that point it had seemed as though Servalan was behind everything. But that was before they had ended up enjoying the Federation’s hospitality, before they had been bombarded by Servalan’s taunts. She’d told them, then, how she had intended to use Zukan and then disposed of him. It hadn’t lasted long; she had lost interest in her two prisoners soon enough afterwards. She had been President again – for a little while. The fall, when it had come, had been all the deeper.

“Avon, do you think…” Vila trailed off, not sure how to finish the sentence.

Avon’s lips curled into a bitter sneer. “Well, perhaps. They don’t yet know about the antidote, but an intelligent person might be suspicious. There was always a risk of betrayal at such a large gathering.” He caught Vila’s eyes, and his expression softened a little. “Don’t worry, Vila. I don’t intend to die on Destiny, not now.” With that, he snatched up his stick and walked out, half-eaten meal forgotten and cooling on his plate.

 

Blake listened to them with concern and an earnest that only proved to Avon the point he had made to Vila – Blake wanted to change things, and he would take every morsel of information Avon and Vila could give him to allow him to try. Perhaps what they were doing now would put an end to the Federation years before their universe had managed as much – or perhaps they were sealing the end of the rebel movement in one swoop. Regardless, Avon could not let all of them walk into the meeting on Destiny without knowing that Zukan had betrayed them once before.

When he’d received the notification, back on their Earth, that the _Liberator_ , that Blake had been seen, he had never imagined that he would end up on the _Liberator_ in a different universe, facing the greatest logician’s paradox there was – what to do if you know what is going to happen. It was all well and good as a thought experiment. Right at the moment Avon couldn’t care less for the reality of it.

“We can’t do anything on mere suspicion, Blake,” Mellanby said, “except put the Betafarlian representative through the same security checks everyone else is undergoing. We knew there was a risk of a spy when we called the meeting. Let us not focus on them and find out it was someone else!”

It wasn’t unreasonable – they had no idea whether Betafarl had already aligned itself with the Federation, or whether their people came in good faith, or even as a true representative of the Unaligned Planets, not that Avon believed that latter. He had seen the leaders of those planets fight and squabble even when faced with recording upon recording of the effects of Pylene 50 – if Betafarl was there with true intentions, then it was out of self-interest.

Blake looked unhappy. “Avon, what do you think?” he asked suddenly and caught Avon’s eye, taking him by surprise.

“I think she’s right – if they are coming to help, we shouldn’t risk antagonising them. I don’t know the state of Zukan’s warfleet in this universe, and I would rather not find out. I do know that the Betafarlians are touchy and sensitive.”

“You mean that they are easily insulted?” Cally said.

“Yes.”

“Then we simply must be careful,” Cally said, and Avon found her pragmatism a welcome respite.

Mercifully, Blake was nodding. “Yes. I feel better knowing, but Mellanby is right – there might be spies at the meeting, spies we don’t know about. We’re not going down unprepared, Avon.”

“I should hope not,” River remarked, almost as an aside, then, louder, “who is going down, anyway?”

Mellanby grinned at him. “Are you volunteering?”

“Certainly not. We need to have the _Liberator_ ready to fight in case of unwelcome guests. Without Orac, that means at least two people have to remain on board. As you and Blake are certainly going down, that leaves…”

“Us,” Vila said from where he was standing at Avon’s shoulder. “We’re going down, aren’t we?”

Avon nodded. “Yes, I think so.”

“Then River and I shall remain on board,” Cally said, and that settled the matter.

What wasn’t settled was the question of how to explain to the assembled rebel leaders and other dissidents that there was an alternate version of two of Blake’s crewmembers with them, one of whom was certifiably dead, and the other – well, Avon couldn’t claim to appear to be in his thirties anymore. Mellanby might have believed in an error on the Federation’s side for a little while, but some of the people who would be there had met Avon, or rather River, in person, and they would not be so accepting. In the end, they decided that Avon and Vila would be allowed to fade into the background as Blake’s bodyguards, unintroduced and unremarked upon. Once, the role might have annoyed Avon; now he was glad for it. He had never been fond of diplomatic discussions, and in this way he would be able to observe without needing to get involved. He didn’t want to be involved. Once had been quite enough.

 

The gathering was larger than Avon had anticipated – and from Vila’s gaping expression, he shared that feeling. Mellanby had gone to take charge as soon as they had arrived – after all, she had issued the invitation. While Blake’s name was well-known, the relative isolation on the _Liberator_ followed by him dropping of the map after the war – quite literally, Avon thought with wry amusement – made Mellanby the better known face. A representative of Avalon’s rebel factions – Avalon herself apparently was alive and well, though she had had to go underground during the war and had been unable to come on such short notice – had come to greet Blake, but otherwise Blake was left alone with Avon and Vila to observe the excited greetings from the sidelines.

Blake’s eyes were shining. “This has to be the largest gathering of resisters since the old days of the Freedom Party.”

“Let us hope it ends on a better note,” Avon said dryly, leaning against the wall. Standing still wasn’t good for his knee, but the wall in his back made it bearable. Once the negotiations started, they would be sitting down, anyway.

Blake, to Avon’s surprise, just smiled at the remark. “The people of Destiny might not have started out as rebels, but they owed us. They have been a secret base of rebel activity ever since. The entire planet is behind us, and this region has been carefully monitored. And, as you know, no one here is carrying weapons.”

Avon tightened his hand on his stick and exchanged a glance with Vila. Yes, all attendees had been checked for the more obvious weapons and transmission and listening devices – but Avon’s stick had gone unnoticed, as had Vila’s lock picking tools, which could be effectively repurposed if needed. If those could have been missed, others had been as well. The flurry of transmission activity around the meeting on Destiny, even if it was hidden and encoded and each message transmission didn’t last more than a second, was unlikely to have gone entirely unnoticed. With luck, it hadn’t gone beyond sleeper agents already active in rebel cells, and the Federation fleet was truly tied up in the pacification effort. If so, the only danger were the individuals in this very room, but they all knew that that could be enough. And that was if their information on Federation activity was correct. Avon itched to be able to consult Orac, though he hadn’t missed the computer for years now. Here, it would have been a useful tool. All he had to go on now, beside word of mouth, was the knowledge that the Federation fleet in their universe had not recovered its strength before they had gone to Gauda Prime – that that had been the reason they had stepped up the pacification programme in the first place. A longer war with the Andromedans pointed to greater losses for the Federation here, but in the end all Avon had was the hope that it was the same in this universe.

“Where’s that rat in a box when you need it?” Vila mumbled from his right, evidently echoing Avon’s thoughts. Not that Orac hadn’t done its fair share of ill before the end.

“Is that the delegation from Betafarl?” Blake asked suddenly, nodding to a small group heading towards them.

Avon glanced up sharply, and found himself looking at Zeeona, the Betafarlian princess that had fallen for Tarrant, or perhaps that Tarrant had fallen for, flanked by two of her people Avon was sure he hadn’t seen before. Avon glanced towards Vila – already Vila was looking a touch less suspicious.

“Roj Blake?” Zeeona said, and offered her hand. “Zeeona of Betafarl. I apologise for our unorthodox means of getting in touch. The Unaligned Planets have been looking for a way to offer our support to the rebel movement for a while. We hope the right time has come. Right now, the Federation efforts focus on the inner planets, but already there are rumours that they aim to subjugate the Unaligned Planets next.”

“Zeeona. Any help is welcome,” Blake said diplomatically. “Have you met Dayna Mellanby?”

“Yes, we spoke briefly. I wished to offer my respects. Since my father’s death at the hands of the Andromedans and the unification of the Unaligned Planets–”

Avon heard Vila gasp and bit his lip against a surprised exclamation of his own.

“– I have been following your Cause. My father might once have allied himself to the Federation for a chance to conquer the others, but the United Planets value their freedom.”

Blake relaxed visibly under her sincere words. “Then you are doubly welcome. We will require as many resources as we can obtain if this is to be a success.”

Zeeona moved on, and Blake turned back to them. “Well?”

“So Zukan is dead,” Vila said, still looking stunned.

Avon frowned, processing the new information. “Yes… clearly the political situation on Betafarl has changed significantly from what we encountered.”

“Do you think she poses a threat to the gathering?” Blake asked, his voice low.

Avon considered for a moment, then shook his head. “No. Zeeona wasn’t given to play-acting. She is an intelligent woman, and stubborn.” Though Avon had never understood what she had found in Tarrant, for all that, nor had he paused to get to know her. Her presence had been a threat to the fragile alliance with Zukan – if he had known, he would have let Tarrant do as he pleased.

“She’ll help,” Vila said. “Won’t she?”

“We shall see.”

 

After the hubbub of the welcome, the meeting started off on a decidedly muted note. There were no recordings to present as Avon had done when he had met with the warlords in their universe, but Blake reported in a sombre voice of the happenings on Auron. Auron, in this universe as in their own, had such a longstanding reputation for neutrality that its fall to the Federation was a shock to the room. There was deep silence around the conference table, only Blake’s quiet steady voice filling the space. Even the assorted advisors and bodyguards that had been seated along the wall of the room had stopped their murmuring. Vila sat back in his chair at the wall behind Blake, next to Avon, and tried not to remember the smell of burning flesh that had assaulted him the instant he had teleported down to Auron. While Cally had thought it important that the story be told, as she was on this mission for her people as much as for the sake of Blake’s Cause, she had been grateful not to have to tell it, as Vila well knew. He was sure that Avon wasn’t quite listening either – he had stretched out his leg stiffly, one hand resting on his thigh while the other held onto his stick. Standing for any greater length of time always took more out of him than he was willing to admit.

“So you see,” Blake said, anger and defiance at last flaring up in his eyes and tone of voice, “Pylene 50 and the pacification programme need to be stopped. The time for the rebel movement might never be more ideal. Our numbers here show that dissent against the Federation has never been at greater height.”

“We know that, Blake,” Avalon’s representative spoke up. There was a murmur of agreement. “And it is heartening to see our numbers grow. But what can we do against this drug? You say it can be spread through the air, through the water…”

“That is the reason we called you here,” Mellanby, seated to Blake’s right at the head of the table, said. “We have a means of stopping the drug. What we need is to coordinate our effort, or we will lose our advantage to the speed with which the Federation makes scientific advances.”

“And the resources to mass-produce the inoculation,” Blake added.

Immediately, the group around the table broke out in exited clamouring. “An antitoxin?”

“An inoculation,” Blake said, raising his voice effortlessly over the din. “With the right resources and time, we might be able to develop an antidote for those already under the influence of the drug. But the antitoxin we have will grant total immunity.”

“But you realise”, Mellanby added, “that we have to coordinate our distribution, or the Federation will know we have the antitoxin and outpace our efforts.”

“First, we will have to produce enough of the drug. Each of us presents several planets, Mellanby. The amount of resources…”

From there on, the discussion turned to the more technical aspects of producing the drug, and Vila tuned out a little. He’d heard it all before. The outcome was equally predictable – Zeeona offered the considerable resources and wealth of all Unaligned Planets, and Destiny itself volunteered to farm the plant component, as long as the resulting food shortage would be addressed by their allies. It was perfect – neither would be expected to be involved in rebel activity by the Federation. Vila noted it all with one ear, watching Avon and watching the other advisors instead. Most of them looked bored, some – the ones that were themselves rebels – listened intently. None seemed to be up to something.

Avon seemed to be watching the room at large, his features changing with what was said at the table, but his gaze drifting steadily over attendees and entourage, and, rarely, back to Vila with a tight smile. Vila nervously fingered his tools in their little pouch hidden close to his chest, and hoped his bad feeling came from the experience of how things had always gone wrong for Avon and him, not by some vague precognition. Not that he believed in those things, really, he didn’t.

When the meeting sojourned for lunch, Avon remained in his chair, leaning back with half-shut eyes, and Vila remained with him as all the rest filtered out of the room. Blake would be safe for a bit at Mellanby’s side. Vila was sure she carried a weapon, and was fast with it, too. She knew to keep watch.

“Are you all right?” he asked Avon, and Avon slowly unfroze.

“Yes,” he said, sitting forward in the chair. “Remembering, that’s all.”

“It’ll work, you see. They all love Blake.”

“Yes, they all love Blake, don’t they.” Avon smiled faintly. “Go on, Vila. Have lunch and keep an eye on Blake. I need a moment for myself.”

Vila nodded reluctantly. “All right. Shout if you need anything. I’ll bring you back some lunch, eh?” He patted Avon on the shoulder, and hurried after the rest of the delegation, trying to locate Blake in the throng.

It was easy enough – Blake was the one surrounded by everyone else. Having been left mostly alone earlier, suddenly everyone seemed to want to meet the legend. Vila got some lunch – a filled bun – in passing, and made his way to Blake’s side. Fleetingly, the thought occurred to him that this large group of people, with their guards down and unsuspecting, would be the perfect target for a pickpocket. Not that it was likely that there would be anything to steal.

Blake spotted him as he shouldered his way through the final line of admirers. “Ah, there you are!” Careful not to mention Vila’s name. “Where is our mutual friend?”

“Resting,” Vila told him, truthfully enough. “Everything going well?”

“Yes.” Blake smiled, and Vila remembered how energised their Blake had always been when they had made contact with a group of rebels. Blake never spoke about it, of course, but on the _Liberator_ , with just them, he was prone to periods of dark brooding – among rebels, he seemed to come alive, passionate, kind and infinitely charming. Possibly it recalled to him the glory days of the Freedom Party, before his first arrest, before the Federation had forced his confession and betrayal and had erased his memories.

“I’m among friends,” Blake said, “and Mellanby will be back in a moment. Why don’t you go fetch some food for our friend and return to him?”

“Has he been injured fighting the Federation?” an onlooker suddenly asked – a young man, younger even than Tarrant had been. Vila recognised him as one of the people that had come with Avalon’s delegation. He looked apologetic as Blake and Vila turned towards him. “I noticed his cane. I meant no offense.”

Blake smiled. “Yes, he was injured by the Federation.” He put an arm around the boy’s shoulders. “We live dangerous lives. Let us hope we succeed in what we are trying to do.”

Among cries of _hear, hear_ , Vila slipped away.

He suddenly felt faintly ill, glad that Avon hadn’t been around to hear Blake’s words. Though meant kindly, Avon would have resented being portrayed as a wounded hero, and Vila agreed with him. There was nothing noble about what had happened to Avon and him – it had been traumatising, degrading and painful, and it still was. The fact that they had come out of it alive and on the winning side, if far from well, had only just begun to scab over the wounds.

Absently, Vila pocketed the little box he had lifted from a woman he had bumped into – falling back to old reflexes in his state of emotional upheaval. Faintly sorry, Vila moved to the edge of the room where the food was, and pulled the thing out again, to see if it was anything that needed to be returned.

His breath stuck in his throat. With horror, he stared down at the subspace transmitter and homing beacon nestled in his palm.


	15. Chapter 15

Avon had pulled up a second chair to elevate his leg, his knee smarting. It was the emotional tension, as he had anticipated when he had taken a painkiller before teleporting down, but the _Liberator_ ’s stock wasn’t as effective as the ones he took on Earth, nor as long lasting. After half a day, the medication had been nearly broken down in his body. He leant back and allowed himself to close his eyes for a moment against the empty room, his stick carefully placed across his lap. So far, everything had gone well. Vila was watching out, and he trusted Vila without question. Perhaps, he could relax just a fraction.

Steps rang out on the floor of the meeting chamber, stopping by his side. “Kerr Avon?”

Avon refused to react to the name, and opened his eyes only slowly to look into the face of a woman dressed in unremarkable clothes that didn’t set her apart from the rest of the rebels in attendance. Her hair was long and twisted into an elaborate knot. She seemed vaguely familiar, but Avon couldn’t place her. “I think you must have mistaken me for someone else,” he said, and watched an apology spring to her face.

“My mistake,” she said dryly, and Avon remembered where he had met her the moment she introduced herself. “My name is Levett – I was on the _Ortega_ when Blake came to our rescue and saved Destiny. As you were with Blake, I thought for a moment… I was mistaken.”

Avon was faintly amused that she didn’t tell him he looked too old, though she was clearly thinking it. “Did you have a message for Avon, or Blake?”

“None. I was seeking solitude. Destiny stands behind this venture, but I shall be glad when all these people are gone. I’m an engineer, not a diplomat.”

Avon sighed. “I know the feeling. I will give your greetings to Blake and Avon.”

Levett nodded, as curt with her words now as she had been on the _Ortega_. She had been efficient to work with as they were trying to repair the ship – competent and not given to small talk, which had been a welcome change from Blake. She nodded to him once more and walked out. In the doorway, she nearly bumped into Vila, who hastily muttered an apology and hurried to Avon’s side.

Worry and fear were edged into his face, and Avon knew immediately that something was wrong. “What happened?”

Vila pressed something into his hand. “I found this.”

It was a transmitter and communication device, a blinking light indicating that it was steadily sending.

“Where did you find it?”

“All right, so I picked someone’s pocket,” Vila chattered nervously and not a bit apologetic, “but it can only mean one thing – the Federation are on the way. We need to warn Blake!”

Avon closed his hand around Vila’s arm as he tried to shoot to his feet. “And cause a mass panic? The _Liberator_ will get in touch if the sensors pick anything up, even if we are in the middle of a negotiation session. There were no Federation ships on the detectors, not even at maximum range. If they have picked up the beacon, they are too far away to respond immediately.”

“Yes, but they will get here eventually! They know where we are now!”

Avon laid the small box on the floor and savagely brought his heel down on it, shattering it to small pieces. “We can’t interrupt the negotiations now. A meeting like this might never happen again. River is on board the _Liberator_. He will let us know the instant the sensors pick something up, by which time they will still be several hours away. _Liberator_ can hold them off for longer.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes, I’m sure. Now where did you get the thing from?”

Vila looked flustered. “I don’t remember! I’m sorry, Avon, I was upset and it was instinct. A woman, I think.”

“Marvellous. That narrows it down to half the attendees.”

Vila ignored the sarcasm. “Who was the woman you were talking to just now, anyway?”

“Levett. She was on the _Ortega_ , part of the crew on the way to Destiny. She thought she’d recognised me.” Of course she _had_ recognised him, but that was beside the point. “Was it her?”

“No. It happened just before I came in; she can’t have been in the room.”

“One less, then. I think we can exclude Zeeona and Dayna, as well.”

“Can’t call her Mellanby either, can you?” Vila said with a sudden smirk, but agreed, “I would have recognised them.”

Avon couldn’t quite bring himself to smile back. Then, abruptly, his mind caught up with what Vila had said. “Why were you upset?”

“Just something Blake said. It doesn’t matter, Avon. There’s a spy out there!”

“As we knew there would be. Keep an eye out. They might notice the device is missing and go looking for it.”

Vila pushed to his feet, still uneasy. “All right. You’ll warn…”

“I’ll warn the _Liberator_. Now get going.”

Vila hurried back out, and Avon lifted his bracelet, hailing the ship. Cally answered, wisely not using any names. Avon didn’t dare either – he seemed to be alone now, but he couldn’t be sure that someone mightn’t still be listening.

“We found a homing beam transmitter, so we might have to expect company.”

“Federation?” Cally asked.

“Probably. At any rate, keep an eye out for ships and let us know as soon as there is anything. We will need time to evacuate.”

Suddenly River’s voice cut across Cally: “Nothing on the long range scanners yet. We’re monitoring.”

“Good.”

“If someone shows up, I’m undocking my ship and taking _Liberator_ out of orbit.”

Avon didn’t like the idea of being stuck on the planet, but it was what he would have done. If need be, they could leave on one of the other rebel ships until they could rendezvous with _Liberator_ again, but there was no Federation personnel on this planet. As long as the Federation was kept away, they would be safe enough where they were.

“We can’t strand them, Avon!” Cally protested, but River was unperturbed.

“We will be back. We are the only ship here that can distract a Federation flotilla for long enough to allow these ships to scatter. We have the detector shield and the superior speed, Cally. It’s what he would do – isn’t it?”

“Yes,” Avon agreed. “Cally, the _Liberator_ must not fall into the hands of the Federation. Regardless of what happens down here – remember that.”

“It might not come to that,” Cally argued stubbornly, then, sensibly, added: “We will do what is necessary, _if_ it is necessary, and we _will_ come back for you.”

“Thank you,” Avon said, managing only a faint hint of sarcasm, “out.”

He had only just lowered the bracelet when the delegates came streaming back into the room and Vila hurried back to his side. Avon could tell from his expression that he hadn’t found out anything new, and Vila confirmed it with a shake of his head at his questioning glance. Then, apologetically, Vila took back his chair which Avon had used as footstool, and everyone settled back down for another round of negotiation.

As the morning had resolved the issue of resources, the afternoon was dedicated to organising the antitoxin’s distribution without alerting the Federation to the fact that they had obtained one. For that reason, if no other, they had to find the spy before she departed – all the spies, if there were more than one. But they hadn’t called the meeting by advertising the fact that there was an antidote – quite on the contrary, until Blake had mentioned it at the table, the fact had been kept secret. Any spy here was either a sleeper agent, and if they had managed to infiltrate any of the rebel organisations so far as to be here at the meeting, they wouldn’t be stupid enough to reveal themselves now. No – they would go back to their rebel cell, and then contact the Federation – the risk that the rebels might counteract the pacification effort was greater than the benefit of catching Blake and the other rebel heads. There was nothing Avon could do about those, if there were any. There would be nothing to give them away. It was the others, the ones that had come here specifically to do something at the meeting – to bring the Federation here or to enact a plot of their own – that they needed to watch out for. They might be less dangerous in the long run than the sleeper agents, but they could do considerable damage at a gathering such as this. And they would act before the meeting drew to a close, inevitably.

Avon was heartily tired of the endless discussion around the table, which seemed to go nowhere. It reminded him of the stifled discussions in Alpha circles back on Earth – the dose of suppressants might have been low, but anyone who so much as hinted at a controversial opinion could count on a visit from the Justice Department, and so all conversation had become carefully couched small talk, designed not to raise offense, designed not to run the risk of being reported to the authorities or of accidentally expressing discontent with the Federation to an undercover Justice Department agent. The rules were more relaxed in work spaces where group work and critical thinking were crucial, but even there the close-mindedness and fear of anything _new_ , of any kind of independent action had driven Avon to distraction. Of course even all that had never meant that the discussions were quiet or polite.

Once, he might have got involved, raising his voice over the chaotic shouting and snapping at the attendees to come to a decision or leave – but he had sworn he wouldn’t interfere. He had failed once – let Blake try and do it better.

“What we need,” Blake was saying, clearly vexed, but his voice calm enough, “is a way to distribute the drug to entire populations. Inoculating the rebel cells is easy enough – loyal citizens,” he paused, letting the phrase hang heavily over the room, “might not be so easily persuaded, unless the antitoxin comes from the right source.”

“Well, it should be simple enough,” a rebel Avon couldn’t recall meeting declared. The man was clearly Alpha grade, and if Avon had been accused of advertising his origins, even though he had never cared enough to actively do so, this man was positively flaunting them. He stood out like a sore thumb amongst the rather drably clothed rebels, the expensive fabrics of his clothes fairly shining.

Blake didn’t seem to think much of the man, his voice forcibly patient as he turned towards him. “Yes, Brathay?”

Brathay smiled benignly, oblivious to Blake’s subtle annoyance. “We’ll distribute it among the Alpha grade–”

Vila came abruptly to his feet. “No,” he said, not even raising his voice, but his tone was so steady and determined that the entire room turned to him. Avon, who had been watching Vila the Chancellor for years, just smiled, but Blake had turned back to them and was gaping, and Mellanby looked utterly astonished.

“Your aide seems to have something to say, Blake,” Brathay taunted, but Vila had seen it all before, as Avon well knew.

“Yes, I have something to say,” Vila said, his voice somewhere between the polished Chancellor’s voice he used for public speeches and his own diction. “You’ve got it all wrong. Yes, all of you. Even you, Blake.”

“And who are _you_?” someone else at the table asked, clear menace in her voice.

Avon knew Vila didn’t need his support, but he stood anyway, remaining just behind Vila’s right shoulder. “His name is Vila Restal. And _you_ will hear him out.”

The name sparked some murmurs around the table. The news of Vila’s death had evidently been spread, as had a few other choice details. “The Delta thief?” came one incredulous voice.

“Yes, the Delta,” Vila said, and instantly all attention was back on him. “It’s because I’m a Delta that I know you are all wrong. It won’t be the Alphas the Federation will be coming for first. There won’t be any point in giving the Alphas the antitoxin. They won’t pass it on; they’ll immunise themselves and then keep the knowledge for themselves. But even if some of them do, it won’t matter at all – because that is what the Federation will offer them, anyway. The Alpha grade will be spared the Pylene 50, because they are all loyal to the Federation, aren’t they?” Vila smiled, but it was an expression he might have stolen from Avon – no shred of humour in it. “So they’ll sit by and watch as the Federation does what they want with the rest. Because that’s where it starts. In the service grades, in the Delta and Gamma sections. They’re barely even human anyway, right? And then, when the majority of the population is drugged into stupor, the Federation will turn on the Alphas, too – and there’ll be no one left to save them. And why should they, anyway?” Vila paused for effect.

The room was so silent Avon could hear the cuff of a sleeve drag over the table across the room. Blake was glowering at them, but he, too, had been stunned into silence. Avon found him easy enough to ignore. This close, he could feel the tension radiating off Vila, but Vila’s voice was perfectly steady, his hands unclenched by his side.

“That’s where you need to start, with the service grades. You won’t find many supporters of the Federation there, anyway, if you find the people clever enough to get around the suppressants.” Vila turned his attention fully on Blake. “Blake, they’re service grades. They go everywhere, and no one pays any attention, you know they don’t. You want something spread, they’ll spread it. Look at this lot!” He waved his arm at the room at large. “Alphas and betas, or what amounts to the same thing on the planets without a formal grade system, the lot of them. Perhaps the ones that support the rebellion are the decent sort and will spread the antitoxin, but without the Delta grade, they’ll never reach the entire population. If you want a sure-fire way to _stop_ something circulating, give it to an Alpha who profits from keeping it for himself! The Federation know that, and they’ve always used it to their advantage. You won’t achieve anything that way!”

Vila fell silent, and Avon could feel how tightly he held himself against the tremor of nerves. Vila had never liked public speaking much, though he loved _talking_ well enough. Regardless, Vila excelled at it, to no surprise of Avon’s. Vila’s words were only just beginning to impact, now that he stopped speaking.

Blake was searching Avon’s gaze, questioning, and Avon caught it for just a moment. Avon thought there might be a smile on his own lips – possibly _proud_ was the best way to describe what he was feeling. He had watched Vila do a similar thing time and time again, but he had never realised before just how fully he had given his loyalty to Vila, not just as a friend and partner, but as a politician – and, for once, he would do the same thing all over again. He had never wanted to lead, had tried and failed. Vila might not always want to – but he excelled. And, then – well, Vila didn’t want to do most things until he tried and found them not so bad, after all.

Blake cleared his throat and shuffled his chair to one side, making space. “Vila, why don’t you sit down and tell us your plan?”

Vila looked back at Avon for the first time since he’d stood, and Avon could see the panic lurking just under the surface. Very briefly, he touched a reassuring hand to Vila’s elbow, then stepped back and took hold of Vila’s chair, pushing it in place between Blake and Mellanby at the table. His knee wouldn’t thank him for it later, but he would not allow Vila to carry his own chair, setting him apart as even more of an outsider to those already seated at the table. The chair moved easily enough over the floor at any rate; he didn’t really need to lift it.

Vila sat down, scooting in, and broke the stunned silence. Soon enough, the murmur of conversation rose up again, made all that more efficient for Vila’s pragmatism and diplomatic experience. Avon retreated back to his chair, easing the tension out of his leg, and returned to watching the room. Now, at least, he could see a solution developing within the next few hours, rather than within centuries.

The discussion returned to its previous liveliness, and no one but Avon heard when his bracelet chimed. He wasn’t far from the door, so he stood and slipped outside into the deserted hallway. “Avon.”

“Cally – Avon, there are Federation ships on the long range scanners. They are too far out yet to have scanned the ships in orbit, so we’re taking the _Liberator_ out with the detector screen on and will lure them away. We will be back once we have lost them.”

“How many ships, Cally?”

“We will be fine.”

“How many?”

“Too many to destroy.”

“Damn.”

“We will be fine, Avon.”

“As long as the Federation fleet doesn’t split up. The ships we have here aren’t battle ships. We won’t even have them in orbit if we first hear that any Federation ships are coming for us from the Destiny satellite grid.”

“If they split up, we will come back,” Cally said, “if not, we will return once we have lost them. That should delay them long enough. I will have to go soon, Avon.”

“All right.” It had been his idea, after all. “The discussion here is still going – I’ll let the others know when I can. Take care.”

“And you. Cally out.”

Avon returned to the room, trying not to worry. There was little he could do, anyway. Just a little longer, and perhaps the meeting would be over in any event. If the Federation ships had only just showed up on the long range scanners, they were still far out – hours before they would get here. But knowing Blake, the discussion would culminate in more food and chatting, and that might drag on into the night. First, of course, they needed to finish the negotiations. Avon wished he could catch Vila’s eye – but he, like Blake and Mellanby, now had his back to him. Uneasy, Avon returned to watching for any suspicious behaviour, and attempted to put the _Liberator_ from his mind.  

 

Vila was buzzing with happiness and energy by the time the discussion wound down and the rebels filed out to have a final drink and goodbye in the antechamber. Spirits were high, _hope_ tangible in the air. At no point while Vila and Avon had been involved in the rebellion in _their_ universe had Vila felt such an unspoiled hope, untinged by daily terrors and the niggling thought that everything they were doing was too little, too late. He’d never seen Blake smile quite like that, either. Vila revelled in the friendly slaps on his back, the admiration shining plainly in the faces of the rebels as they passed him, young and old. Even Brathay came to shake his hand, grudging respect in his eyes.

And then they’d all walked past and he was left there alone, trying to gather his thoughts.

“Vila.”

Vila turned at the soft voice behind him, and found himself standing very close to Avon, who placed a gentle hand on his elbow. He was smiling, his eyes gleaming bright. “Well done, Vila.”

“Oh. Well. It’s nothing. I think I might have enjoyed it after all, but really that was nothing – you should see me open that one lock, did I tell you about that lock, Avon…?” Vila trailed off as Avon’s hand settled on his cheek, his thumb lightly on Vila’s mouth.

“May I?” he asked in a whisper.

Vila nodded and clasped his shoulders, letting himself fall into Avon’s embrace. Avon was an excellent kisser, his lips firm but subtle under Vila’s, tender and possessive all at once. Scared of overbalancing them both, Vila let him take the lead until they broke apart with a mutual gasp. Avon pulled him even closer then, settling his head on Vila’s shoulder and pressing a light kiss to the delicate skin just under his ear. Vila held him, fingers twisted in Avon’s jacket, for a long few breaths, then, reluctantly, untangled and bent to pick up Avon’s stick from where it had fallen.

“Vila,” Avon said when Vila handed it back, their hands brushing, “let’s get married.”

Vila thought his face might break with his grin. “Yes!”

Avon grinned back at him for a moment longer, then stepped back, expression sobering. “Until then, we have work to do, Vila. I didn’t see anything suspicious during the negotiations, but I expect the spy will make a move before this conference is over.”

“Right. Let’s go, then.”

Unlike before, Vila couldn’t slip through the crowd unnoticed. Everyone wanted to shake his hand again, offer him a drink and try to draw him to the side for a chat – until Avon took him by the elbow again and started scowling at people until they made space for them to find their way back to Blake.

Vila had scanned the crowd as he walked, but he hadn’t recognised the woman he’d pickpocketed at the table earlier, and had no hope of recognising her in this mass of bodies. If he hadn’t been able to spot her while they were all seated orderly at the table, negotiating… They would have to wait for her to make her move.

Roj Blake was smiling from ear to ear – Vila couldn’t remember having ever seen him this happy. He pulled Vila into an abrupt hug which felt as though he were getting squashed.

“Blake! I need to breathe!”

Blake let him go immediately, brushing imagined dust off Vila’s jacket, still beaming. “That was marvellous, Vila. Well done!” He squeezed Vila’s shoulders.

“One hopes you learned something, Blake,” Avon drawled from Vila’s right.

Blake let Vila go, meeting Avon’s gaze. “Oh, I think I have. Any problems so far?”

Vila opened his mouth to tell him of the transmitter, but Avon cut across him: “Nothing of immediate concern.”

Blake seemed to believe him immediately. “Good. Let’s get a drink – Vila, you deserve one.”

Once, Vila would have been enthusiastic, but alcohol had lost the appeal a long time ago – he certainly didn’t need it when he was feeling this elated. “Just juice for me, Blake,” he said, and Blake nodded, making his way through the crowd to fetch three glasses.

Vila swept his eyes over the gathered rebels again, then leant over to whisper to Avon. “Do you see anything?”

“No. Perhaps they are waiting for something.”

“What could they be waiting for? It’s all over!”

Avon’s mouth twitched. “The arrival of a Federation fleet? Or perhaps they are waiting for the crowd to die down. It depends on what they were after.”

“Vila!” Mellanby pushed through to them and hugged Vila close, kissing him on the cheek. Vila could see Avon roll his eyes behind her back. “That was amazing! Who knows how long we would have been sitting there if you hadn’t spoken up.”

Vila gently pushed her away, smiling. Dayna Mellanby might have been born to an Alpha family, but growing up in isolation on Sarran hadn’t given her much of an understanding of grades – at least, that had been the case with _their_ Dayna, one of the aspects that made her a lot more likable than Tarrant. Vila wasn’t surprised that, even with her experience as rebel leader, she had found the Alpha-esque diplomacy as tedious as he did.

“Always glad to help, me,” he told her.

Avon scoffed, and Vila shot him a quicksilver grin.

“Help! You did more than help, Vila! You single-handedly turned the discussion, and now we have a real chance! Finally, we have a real chance!”

Blake returned, pressing a glass flute filled with juice into Vila’s hand. “Here you are. Avon?”

Avon accepted the second glass of juice. “You shouldn’t use my name,” he said quietly, just loud enough for their little group to hear. “Levett is here somewhere, and I would prefer to avoid lengthy explanation.”

“Levett?” Blake looked puzzled.

“One of the crew of the _Ortega_. The female engineer.”

“Ah, yes. I remember.”

“Blake,” Vila asked as Avon’s eye swept back to watch the crowd, “do you think it’ll work?”

“Only time will tell. But we have a real chance now. With the help of the Unaligned Planets and Destiny, we will have manufactured enough of the antidote to start distributing it in just a few months. I suspect it will be a few supply runs for the _Liberator_ , but we’ll manage. Yes, I think it will work.”

 

Avon watched the thinning crowd with unease. He hadn’t heard from the _Liberator_ , but she was probably still trying to shake the Federation ships, and no contact was a good sign. Cally and River wouldn’t be stupid enough to risk her being destroyed, and _Liberator_ was nowhere near as fragile as _Scorpio_ had been. But without the transmitter, he was sure their spy hadn’t heard from the Federation either – what was she waiting for, if the woman Vila had stolen from was the only one? Surely, if she had wanted the Federation to capture and destroy a significant numbers of rebels, she couldn’t wait for them all to leave. And if that hadn’t been the goal – what was she planning? Why carry a homing beacon if not to indicate their location to the Federation?

But the remaining rebels seemed all happily engaged in slightly buzzed chatting, or, alternatively, bidding their goodbyes to Mellanby, Blake, and, now, Vila, and making their way back to their respective ships. Everything seemed fine, and Avon’s unease mounted with every passing minute.

Vila fidgeted at his side. “What’s going on, Avon?” he whispered in a quiet moment. “Why haven’t they tried something?”

“I don’t know. They must have realised by now that they lost the transmitter, and that the fleet isn’t coming in time.”

“But if we let her leave she’ll tell them!”

“How do you propose to stop her, if it is a she? You don’t know where you found the device, and everyone is being searched. If they don’t find anything… But no, I don’t think the person who brought the transmitter is cool enough for that. They came here with a purpose, not as a sleeper agent.”

“How do you know?”

“Too clumsy a homing beacon. They might have found it at the door when she came in – an implant would have been better.” For a moment, he remembered Vila’s steady hands on his neck, inserting the homing beacon that would bring the crew to him once he’d found Shrinker. He’d asked Cally to do it, but she had wanted nothing to do with the whole plan, and that had left Vila.

Then, suddenly, he saw it. A woman, as Vila had said, halfway across the room, shrugging out of her jacket and pulling off a glove. She was lifting her arm, pointing it unerringly – at Blake, whose back was turned. But she was across the room, and the stick was useless. Vila had seen, too – “Someone stop her!” – but Avon was already moving, crashing into Blake –

Oh, but it _hurt_!

Vision blurring, he saw Vila and Mellanby reach the woman at the same time, wrestling with her gun arm, artificial, her arm was artificial, a gun, like Travis’s, knocking her to the ground – she fought to free herself, screaming: “I waited long enough! Because of _you_ , because of the rebellion, my entire planet is dead! Remember Albian, Blake – remember–”

The shrieks cut off abruptly, and Avon’s legs went out from under him. He clutched at the arm of the person who had first caught him – Blake?

Albian? Oh, Del Grant – but they had – Avon gasped, and the pain exploded, whitening his vision.

Dimly, he knew he was being lowered to the ground, and when his vision came back, he was staring at his own hand, lifted from his side – covered in blood. “Oh.”

“Avon, stay still.” Blake loomed over him, face grim.

Avon let his hand fall back to his side – easier than holding it up, anyway. He felt like laughing, and tried, though it sounded wrong and Blake looked horrified. For a moment, Avon was looking again into eyes blank in death, red lights flashing. He gasped, and the pain chased the memory away. “Ah, Blake.” Talking hurt. “Save your life and get shot in the side. You don’t. Much like irony. Do you?”

“Avon, be still!”

Pressure at his side, on the wound, and _pain_. He tried to twitch away, but nothing seemed to work. Disorientated, he stared at the ceiling, then Vila was there, high above him, then much closer, and someone taking his hand.

“Avon?” Vila sounded afraid, so afraid…

“Vila, he’s losing too much blood. We have to get up to the ship, now!”

Avon shook his head, trying to see Blake, but he couldn’t seem to lift his head. “No ship.”

“What do you mean, no ship!?” Vila cried.

“Had to. Lure the Federation. Away.”

Vila raised his bracelet anyway, trying to hail the _Liberator_. There was no response, of course.

More pressure, more pain. A rushing sound in his ears. Avon arched with the agony, and Blake barked something, hands coming down firmly on Avon’s shoulders, holding him still. Vila?

The pain receded a little, a hand leaving his arm.

“What was in there?” Vila again.

“A painkiller, and something to stop shock and slow the blood flow. It’s not much…” Dayna? But Dayna was dead – wasn’t she?

“Avon? Avon, stay with us.” Blake?! But he had… Blake was… he had shot – no! The other universe, of course.

Blake was looming over him again. Alive. He’d saved Blake’s life. “Avon?”

“Blake.” Avon tried to smile, not sure whether he’d succeeded. “Must I. Perpetually. Save you. From assassins. With an artificial gun arm?”

“You saved my life. Now lie still. Everything will be fine.”

Avon shook his head weakly, brushing against something – what? He lifted his hand, seeking. “Vila?”

His hand was caught, warm fingers threading through his. Cold. So cold. He was just seeing splotches of colour now, but he knew Vila’s face anyway. “Stupid. Vila. I…”

“Shhh. I know. Avon, I know. Lie still, eh, so we can fix it, yeh? Just hang on. ‘s not all that bad. ‘s almost stopped bleeding…”

Awareness receded to the sound of Vila’s babbling.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Because I'm a mean, mean author (and I wanted to do something ~exciting~ for my birthday tomorrow), this will be our final cliffhanger for the story. ;P I want to use next weekend to post the final fic of mine from Rebels and Fools, and I will see you in two weeks' time for the next update!  
> Meanwhile, don't hesitate to comment here, or go back and comment on old chapters! I always look forward to hearing from my readers! (even incoherent screams of rage XD)


	16. Chapter 16

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Who's ready for the new chapter? ;) (Enjoy it while it lasts! Only three more to go!)

Vila arrived at the medical unit seething with anger, wanting the assassin gone with all his heart. Sometimes he thought if he were to go to see her he might try to kill her – but he didn’t really want her dead, he just wanted her _gone_ , wanted to stop having discussions about her, wanted to stop having to think about her. She’d been all alone because this universe’s Vila had died and they hadn’t saved her planet. She’d been desperate, and hurt, and the Federation had, in their great generosity, stepped in to help. Vila knew how it worked. Perhaps they’d even conditioned her – Blake thought so, but without Orac there was no way to check. Mellanby would take care of her, but until then, she was on the ship, and Vila wanted her _gone_.

The helpless anger fled at the door, leaving only weariness behind. When he stepped into the room and looked at Cally’s tired face, it felt as though it was weighing him down, forcing him to sink closer to the floor. “How is he?”

“Stable,” Cally said, standing. “Vila, I would have called–”

“– if there’d been any change. Yeh, I know. Sorry, Cally. Go get some sleep. I’ll sit with him.”

After two days, Cally knew better than to argue, and simply laid a hand on his arm for a moment before leaving.

Vila pulled the chair she had vacated closer to the bed and settled down, uneasily twisting his hands. He hadn’t yet been able to look at the bed’s occupant; it always took him a few minutes before he could.

 _Stupid_ , Avon had said. Vila was fairly sure he had been talking about himself – Avon had never thought much about risking one’s life to save someone else, though he had done it time and time again. But he had saved Blake’s life. _I don’t intend to die on Destiny, not now_. Vila had started moving at the same time as Avon, but neither him nor Mellanby would have reached the assassin in time, and her gun arm would have ripped a large gaping hole right through Blake’s back. Instead, the blast had torn into Avon’s side.

He’d survived. But only so far. But only just. Avon had thought he was dying, and Vila kept hearing his faint words before he’d lost consciousness, phantom sounds in the quiet of the _Liberator_.

“Vila.” There. Phantom noises. But the voice came again. “Vila, I…”

Vila started, turning towards the door. “Oh, it’s you.”

It was River. He’d kept his distance so far – and Vila was grateful. He knew River had avoided the medical unit because Cally had been using her telepathy to talk to Avon, and it was still giving him a headache – being on the other side of the ship made it easier. But Vila also knew that River hadn’t wanted to make it harder for him by being up and about and walking and fine, a constant reminder, just as he knew that River was spooked by seeing Avon like this. Even now, River barely flicked his gaze towards the man on the bed as he stepped carefully inside. He stood a few steps away, hands clasped behind his back. “About that argument you walked into, Vila.”

“Yeh?” Vila prompted without real interest. It seemed hardly significant.

“Blake wanted to convince you to stay, by all necessary means. He won’t be trying again.”

Vila nodded. So Avon had been right, after all.

River stepped closer and unclasped his hands, revealing a portable music player that he passed to Vila. “Here. It’s…” He broke off, avoiding Vila’s gaze, then avoiding looking at the bed and wound up staring at the floor. “The datacube has some of my favourites. It… might help.”

Vila took it, wrapping his fingers around the player. They were always so cold now, his hands, as though he were freezing, even when he wasn’t. “Thanks.”

River nodded and turned to go.

Vila called him back. “Avon.”

River froze and turned around. He looked pained. “Vila, there is no need…”

“Thank you. Really.”

He nodded and walked out, closing the door behind himself.

Vila inserted the cube into the player and set a low volume, placing it on the table by the bed. Vila recognised the music, of course – had heard it playing in Avon’s suite from time to time. It chased the silence away, at least, even if Avon didn’t hear. He had been faintly responsive, but…

Avon had fainted down on Destiny, of course, passing out from the blood loss. Mellanby’s first aid had stabilised him, and after a few agonising minutes – they had seemed so much longer to Vila – the _Liberator_ had been back. The medical computer had put Avon under anaesthesia then, so they could repair the wound in his side. They had, and the anaesthesia had worn off, and Avon hadn’t woken up. The medical computer couldn’t determine a cause, would only report on the comatose state. As far as comas went, apparently it wasn’t all that deep – Avon flinched from pain and his eyes responded when Cally had shown a light into them, but that had been it. And that had been it for two days now.

“Avon.” Vila reached for Avon’s hand, wrapping the limp fingers in his own. It hurt to look at Avon like this. It was like he had gone away again, only he had gone much further now, and Vila didn’t know whether he would be back this time. “Time to wake up, eh? You can’t leave me all alone. Always was scared of being on my own, and you’re the only one left. Please, Avon. Please.”

Nothing happened. Avon continued to lie there, hooked up to the medical computer, an oxygen mask on his face, drugs supressing the elimination processes, fluids and nutrients fed into him by the machines. His chest rose and fell shallowly. He looked small and fragile and somehow simultaneously so much younger than when he was awake and as though he had aged a hundred years. Vila didn’t have any experiences with long-term care units in hospitals – Deltas hadn’t had access to those in the old days, it was cheaper to just let the lowest grades die and reproduce, and after the Federation had fallen, every hospital had been improvised – but in his nightmares, this was how it looked.

Avon had expected to die, and Vila thought that was probably the reason he wasn’t waking up. Avon’s brain had made him go away before – now it had done it again. Only before Avon may have wanted to be dead rather than in Federation clutches, now, he thought he _was_ dead. It probably didn’t work like that, but Vila didn’t want to hear any contradictions, not from Zen, not from anyone but Avon.

“Come on. You’re not dead. You saved Blake and you didn’t die and now you need to come back because I need you. Damn you, Avon! I need you!” Vila leant forward to hide his face in their entwined hands, pressing a light kiss on Avon’s knuckles. He stayed like that, drifting in the music, for a long time, until Cally came to relieve him and he staggered back to his cabin to sleep.

 

The chime on the internal communicator woke him. Vila’s mind was immediately wide awake, though his body was only catching up slowly. Groggily, he stumbled out of bed. “Cally?”

“Sorry to wake you, Vila, but you should come down to the medical unit.”

Half-asleep and afraid, Vila’s heart skipped a beat before Cally’s tone registered. “Cally?” he asked, not quite daring to hope.

“It’s fine. Vila, Avon is going to be fine.”

Vila steadied himself on the wall, just breathing for a long moment. It felt as though he hadn’t been breathing properly in days. Not bothering even with putting his shoes back on, Vila hurried to the medical unit, nearly falling over Blake, who caught him by the arms and pulled him back upright. Blake was smiling.

“Easy, Vila. Take it slow.”

“Blake–!”

“I know. I’ve just come from there. He is awake, but still confused and Cally says it might be a day or so before he can talk. Be gentle.”

“Oh, let him go,” another voice cut in – River, leaning against the wall down the corridor. “Avon needs to see him.”

“You’ve been to see him, too?”

River nodded, a brief smile touching his lips as he caught Vila’s scandalised gaze. “Let him go, Blake.”

“All right,” Blake stepped back, and Vila hurried past him. “Gently, Vila!”

Vila arrived at the medical unit just as Mellanby was leaving, and burst through the door without pausing to say hello. “How dare you wake up while _everyone_ could be there before me!”

The sight of Avon’s eyes meeting his was the most beautiful thing Vila had seen since Grant had taken him to a window through which he could see the stars for the first time after they had escaped their Federation cell. Vila’s legs suddenly refused to hold him up any longer, and he leant gratefully on Cally when she jumped to catch him. She steered him over to the chair by Avon’s bed, pushed him down into it and pressed a glass into his hand. “Drink, Vila. One patient is quite enough.”

Avon’s eyes, which had tracked Vila all the way from the door, flickered to her for a moment, then settled back on Vila. Vila got the impression that Avon was laughing, even though there was only the faintest of twitches of his lips. He was sitting up against the partly raised end of the bed, but didn’t seem to have any energy for much movement.

Vila drank down the glass blindly, only faintly registering the familiar taste of soma and adrenalin on his tongue. “Avon,” he said, almost in wonder.

Avon’s eyes had wandered away from him for a moment, but they returned to Vila’s face at the sound of his name, and he held out a shaking hand towards him. He could barely reach past the edge of the bed. Vila caught the hand, squeezing, and felt Avon squeeze back weakly. Reassured by the feeling of the warm hand in his, Vila risked glancing away for a moment to look at Cally. Tired, but smiling Cally.

“Cally?”

She understood the unvoiced question. “The medical computers predict a day or two for full recovery. The gun wound will need a little longer, but there seems to be no infection. You should be out of bed by the end of the week, Avon.”

Vila squeezed Avon’s hand again, and when he didn’t squeeze back, Vila turned back to face him in alarm. Avon’s gaze had wandered away from them both, and he was staring at his feet, a faint frown on his face.

“Avon?”

Avon looked back towards him. “Still here,” he said, and though his voice was faint and slurred, Vila could only remember one time he had been as glad to hear it.

Avon fell asleep shortly afterwards, his hand still resting in Vila’s. It was normal sleep now, though Vila double-checked with the computers just to be sure. Determined to be there this time when Avon woke up, Vila sat by the bed and played with his handheld, fondly remembering the bet he and Avon had made over the game. Avon had won, of course, though he hadn’t had a chance to claim his price yet. Vila had tortured himself with the thought that perhaps Avon would never get the chance – but Avon would be fine. Vila couldn’t wait to pay his dues.

Avon slept for nearly eight hours, and when he stirred, Vila laid aside the device and caught his hand again. “Avon?”

He looked towards Vila, seeming more alert than before and more awake. “Hello.” His lips quirked. “What happened?” His voice was still faint but steadier, and Vila reached for the nutrient drink Cally had prepared for him.

“Here, do you think you can drink this?”

Avon nodded, and though his hand shook, he drank without help from Vila. “I remember getting shot.”

“You were. Does it hurt?”

Avon shook his head. “I’m all right. Blake?”

“Not a scratch on him. You saved his life, you know.”

“Yes, I do know.” Avon frowned for a moment, then he passed the empty glass back to Vila.

“You lost a lot of blood,” Vila went on. “I think your brain thought you had died, and that’s why you didn’t wake up straight away. But it’ll be all right now.”

“Not my field, but I don’t think that’s how it works, Vila,” Avon said, and looked faintly puzzled when Vila beamed at him. “What?”

“Nothing. I’m glad you came back, is all.”

“How long?”

“Three days, well, four, now, but three before you woke up last night. Did you know?”

Avon sighed. “I knew it had been… long. Not quite how long.”

“It doesn’t matter, you’re back now. It wasn’t that long, really.”

Avon scanned his face. “Vila, you look dead on your feet.”

“Yeh, and you look so much better?”

Avon chuckled, then broke off, a hand going to his side and hovering over the bandage covering the healing gunshot wound. “Ah. Perhaps I shouldn’t laugh.”

“So it does hurt!”

“I was shot; what did you think?” Avon dropped his hand and just lay there for a moment, staring blankly at the ceiling. Something flashed over his face – pain, fear? – and Vila climbed to his feet to lay a hand on Avon’s shoulder, rubbing it gently. They had raised the temperature in the medical unit so Avon wouldn’t be cold lying around shirtless, but Cally had laid a throw around his shoulders before he had fallen asleep again earlier. It had slid off his arms to lie under him now, hanging off the edge of the bed. Vila plucked at it so it didn’t bunch uncomfortably in Avon’s back.

“Avon?”

Avon’s gaze returned to him slowly, and Vila could see the horror lurking behind them. “Blake. He was in here when I was awake earlier. Wasn’t he?” His tongue seemed to be tripping over the words again, and he looked confused and lost, evidently unable to hide it.

Cally had warned Vila that that might be the case, that it would be normal for Avon to have slips of awareness until he had fully recovered. It brought back some unpleasant memories, but Vila was also relieved that this wasn’t the first time he saw Avon this ill – that Avon depended on him for information, for reassurance. It had been so much more difficult the first time, for both of them.

“Yes, Avon. He’s fine. We were taking turns sitting with you – I think it was his turn when you woke up.”

Avon shook his head faintly. His voice seemed unable to express what he was thinking. “I shot…”

“The other Blake. Yes. But you saved this one.”

“Gauda Prime…”

“Was a long time ago, and in a different universe.”

A flash of irritation. “I _know_. Keep seeing…”

“Oh, hallucinations, nightmares. Cally said that might happen. They’ll go away, Avon, I promise. Everything’s all right. You saved Blake’s life. You trust me, don’t you, harmless old Vila? I wouldn’t lie to you. Do you want me to get Cally?”

Avon blinked slowly, seeming about to say something else, but fell asleep again before he could.

Vila watched him for a few minutes, to make sure that he was really sleeping, then laid the throw over Avon’s shoulders again and called Cally down to the medical unit to relieve him. Once done, Vila switched on the music – it might keep the nightmares away – and curled up on the spare bed, too weary to walk back to his cabin. His mind felt blank, overtired. But Avon was all right, so it was fine to sleep, just for a little bit…

 

Avon woke up to the sound of music – centuries old, played on an instrument that was even older. Strange sometimes, he mused, what had survived from the Era of the Old Calendar and all through Federation control and propaganda. The recording, of course, was more recent – where had Vila…? Of course, he would have got it from River, who, as Avon himself, must originally have got it from Orac, though the computer had bitterly resented being used for the purpose of producing music cubes. Avon had very quietly and privately missed the music on _Scorpio_ , but hadn’t dared ask Orac to do it again. Back on Earth, of course, Avon now had unlimited access to all audio recordings in existence within the computer network – more music than he could ever hope to listen to in his lifetime.

He opened his eyes and found himself looking at the wall and ceiling of the medical unit. He was still physically tired, but compared to the confused blur of the previous times he had been awake – two, or more? – his mind felt much clearer. There was a sharp pain in his side, where the wound was, and a familiar ache of his knee, both dulled lightly by painkillers. It would take a higher dose to make the pain go away, but for now Avon was almost grateful to feel it, after the strange blankness that had come before.

He lifted his hand to rub wearily at his face, careful not to disturb the line supplying him with nutrients and, probably, the painkillers. He felt a light growth of a beard – the depilatory cream he had used had worn off. Well, it was Vila’s – Avon hadn’t felt it necessary to synthesise a batch just for himself, though Vila’s was scented while Avon preferred his not to be.

“Avon! You’re awake! Why didn’t you say anything?”

 _Speak of the devil…_ Avon turned his head to look at Vila, scrambling up from where he had sat sprawled on a chair to come to his bedside. He looked better than he had when Avon last remembered seeing him – a flash of concern shot through him at that; just how long had he been asleep? But Vila had clearly rested, freshened up and changed. Things were all right, then, if Vila had taken the time to do that.

“You look better,” Avon told him, appalled at how faint his voice _still_ sounded.

Vila reached to switch off the music, and picked up a glass of clear liquid in the same movement. “Here. Water will help.”

Avon accepted the glass gratefully, finding his coordination better than it had been. The water was indeed soothing to his throat. “Where are we?”

Vila looked momentarily shocked, then resigned. “The _Liberator_ , Avon. You know, in the other universe?”

“I know that. Just how confused was I earlier? Where _in space_ , Vila?”

Relief shone in Vila’s eyes. “Not terribly confused. I think what happened brought back some memories, that’s all.” Vila paused for a moment, and Avon knew exactly which memories he was referring to, but Vila went on, an easy babble of words, before either of them could get too lost in brooding. “We had to get away from Destiny in case the Federation got interested, but we’re still cruising around the Outer Planets. Going to drop off Dayna – Mellanby – on Sarran again, then the plan was to get us home. River thinks he’s got all figured out how the get the _Liberator_ back here once they’ve dropped us off, but he can’t isolate the command to take us there. He thinks you’ll be able to do it.”

“Yes, probably.” Avon took another swallow of the water. “What happened on Destiny?”

“Nothing much, really. The woman who did it wasn’t really a Federation agent, more another one of their victims. Blake thinks she was programmed into doing it, but either way she was meant to locate Blake for them, so they gave her a transmitter to activate if she found him. And a few nasty embellishments, too, when they replaced her arm. She was a survivor of Albian, Avon.”

“I remember Albian – but…”

“They couldn’t do it in this universe. River said they never got to the bomb.”

Avon dragged in a sharp breath, regretting it the instant the wound in his side complained. Albian, though it had stirred up memories of Anna, had been one of his personal high points – a sharp thrill of danger and success, like when he had first hacked into the banking system, and it had been _his_. “I see.”

“It wasn’t River’s fault,” Vila said, almost falling over his words. “There just wasn’t enough time. Anyway, that’s how the Federation could convince her to do it, because rebelling had cost her entire home planet. They turned her into a weapon.”

“You don’t sound angry.”

Vila shrugged. “I was, for a while, but now you’ll be all right, and I know how persuasive the Federation can be. I don’t want to be friends, but I’m not angry at her. Mellanby is going to take care of her, keep her in her rebel cell. Get her a proper prosthesis for her arm, not that disgusting thing. And we’ll be at Sarran within the day, so you don’t have to see her, anyway.”

Vila had always forgiven too easily, but if what he said was true, Avon didn’t have it in him to blame the would-be assassin either. She hadn’t been her own free agent, not like Travis, not like Anna. “If not for the arm,” he told Vila, “I probably wouldn’t recognise her one way or another, which is probably for the best. It’s all a blur.” Avon passed the glass, empty now, back to Vila and shifted gingerly. His knee had been elevated, and, Avon thought, exercised – Vila knew how to do it – and felt less stiff than it would otherwise have been. The pain in his side was starting to radiate out, each breath pulling on the wound. He sagged back against the bed, strangely winded.

“Hey, you’re not trying to get up, are you?”

“No.” Avon gritted his teeth for a moment. “I’d like… a shirt. And I think I should speak to Blake – speak, not argue. Don’t you?”

Vila pulled open a drawer in the side table and fished out one of the deep blue shirts Avon had found in the _Liberator_ ’s storage, holding it out to Avon. “Do you feel up to Blake?”

Shrugging into the shirt was more exhausting than it should have been, but Avon still nodded when he leant back. “As much as I every will.” He tied the sash loosely, making sure the knot didn’t rest over the wound. “Blake might be easier to deal with if his bleeding heart prompts him to go easy on me.” He said it half in jest, but he knew Blake – perhaps Blake was ill-equipped to navigate chronic injury, hindered by his smothering sympathy, but Blake had always tried to hold on tighter to his temper when Avon was injured on one of his missions, despite the fact that it was usually then that Avon most tried to provoke him. This time would be different. They needed to talk about Gauda Prime, and about what Avon had done, and about why he couldn’t stay. Avon would much rather have argued, but it needed to be said, and better let it be said on his terms than Blake’s.

“Do you want me to get him now?” Vila asked.

“Oh, he will be down here soon enough.” Avon looked over at Vila and reached out a hand. “Stay awhile, Vila?”

Vila grinned. “Wasn’t going anywhere.” He took Avon’s hand and sat on the chair by the bed, thumb brushing over Avon’s wrist in little circles. “Do you want me to read to you?”

Avon rolled slightly onto his side so he could watch him better, and was struck again by the depth of feeling he held for Vila. “Why not?”

“I found just the thing,” Vila said, and collected his reader from the side table without letting go of Avon’s hand.

Avon closed his eyes and let Vila’s voice wash over him. He was safe.

 

Avon talked with Blake at length over the next days, conversations that seemed to go well, even though they visibly exhausted Avon. Vila tried not to pry. It was none of his business, what Avon said, only that he was working through grief and guilt he had buried for years. Avon told him some of it – a summary, anyway. The question of them staying – of Blake forcing them to stay – was definitely off the table. Avon confirmed it, and Vila knew that River had had something to do with it, too, but Avon wouldn’t say what Blake had said, only that the matter was resolved.

The nightmares weren’t as easy to be rid of. Avon had always had them, of course, but they returned with a vengeance now, and Vila knew Avon despised having them in the relative public of the medical unit, instead of locked away in his cabin or suite. Talking to Blake seemed to help with the haunted look Avon first had during his waking hours whenever the pain in his side reminded him, but his subconscious wasn’t so easily settled. Probably it would never be, but Vila had hopes. Avon insisted that saving _this_ Blake’s life hadn’t been penance, that _their_ Blake still lay dead by his hand and that nothing he could do could make that undone. Vila still thought that, maybe, Avon had forgiven himself a little more now that he had proven to himself that, under other circumstances and without the misunderstandings and the stress, he would do anything so Blake might live. That he hadn’t, after all, _wanted_ to shoot the man. Or perhaps Vila was completely wrong about all of it. He knew Avon, but it’d only be half as interesting if he’d fully understood him.

Vila wasn’t quite sure what Blake got out of the conversations, but Blake seemed happy, hopeful – not quite as exuberantly joyous as he had been on Destiny before Avon had been shot, but definitely more relax, more positive, less driven that Vila remembered their Blake being before Star One. He was developing a clear plan of action, sitting for long hours on the flight deck with Cally, Mellanby and River, and sometimes he’d ask Vila to join them, for his political expertise. It was nice to be asked one’s opinion, and the things Blake was planning sounded sensible. They were dangerous in their own way, but not as suicidal as waltzing into Federation installations to blow things up. And Avon appreciated being left alone once in a while when they were all too busy strategising to hover around him.

Vila learned some news of his own in these talks that he could report back to Avon: Mellanby had decided to stay on the _Liberator_ , and was just finalising things with her rebel faction. She would return to Sarran to deliver the prisoner, in the hopes that she could be deconditioned and integrated into society on some neutral planet, and to tie up some lose ends, and then she would come back. The jury was still out on whether _Liberator_ would wait for her or make the attempt to get Avon and Vila home first.

Most of Vila’s time, however, was spend sitting with Avon in the medical unit. Cally thought Avon might be well enough to go to his cabin to recover, but Avon had little interest in returning to the spare cabin he had been using because River was still around to occupy his own, and the bed in Vila’s was simply too small for them to share while Avon’s side was healing. Cally had seemed surprised that Avon opted to stay in the medical unit, though she approved – but she hadn’t seen the medical facilities Avon and Vila had been through during the years. The _Liberator_ ’s medical unit was cosy by comparison.

“Avon?”

Avon was lying back on the bed and working on a reader to tease out the command that would get Zen to return them to their universe. He only hummed in acknowledgement.

“What about Tarrant and Soolin?”

“What about them?”

“Should we tell Blake about them?”

Avon lowered the reader, shifting position carefully. “I don’t think volunteering information is a good idea, Vila.”

“Yes, but we’ve done it twice now and nothing bad happened. And Soolin will want to get away from Dorian! And you know I never much liked Tarrant, but he’ll get himself killed if he stays out there running contraband.”

“He got himself killed with us, too,” Avon murmured. “I don’t dare, Vila. We have helped as far as we’ve been involved. Any information beyond that might prove disastrous. Even the information we _have_ given might still prove disastrous. Who knows, perhaps one of the differences in this universe is that Tarrant never deserted.”

“But…”

Avon shook his head slightly. “You don’t have any guilty conscience to sooth, my friend; you didn’t do anything wrong. I will have to live with mine.”

Vila stared at him. “That doesn’t sound like something Kerr Avon would say.”

Avon’s lips quirked into a faint half-smile. “Doesn’t it? Well, perhaps not. Perhaps it’s time I changed.”

“Don’t you dare.” Vila swung his legs up onto the edge of the bed, tilting his chair precariously. “You know what we should do, once this is done? Sneak out and bust a casino. Or perhaps we’ll wait until you’ve built Orac Mark 2. Anyway, it’ll do us good. Just like old times. We can give the money back afterwards. It’ll be just for fun.”

Avon’s brow furrowed in mock surprise. “ _You_ want to give the money back?”

“All right, then we keep it and donate it. I don’t need it, and it’ll just gather dust. It’d be a shame, letting all that lovely money go to waste.”

“Don’t you think you are planning just a little far ahead?”

Vila plopped his feet back down. “Do you think you can’t do it?”

“Oh, _we_ can do it. The computer won’t be called “Orac”, though.”

“No?”

“No…” Avon ran a finger along the side of his reader, pensive. “I was rather thinking… “Blake”.”

“Yeh? Want an excuse to get mad at it, do you?” It was a comment Vila would have made back on the _Liberator_ – before Gauda Prime – but hadn’t dared since. Now, it was a test. Avon didn’t laugh, but shot him a quick brilliant smile that was answer enough. Vila felt as though, suddenly, after years and years, he could breathe freely once more. Now all they needed to do was get back to the universe they really belonged to.


	17. Chapter 17

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ♥

They ended up going down to Sarran with Mellanby, planning to stick around until she had settled her affairs. Avon didn’t think it would be a good idea to try and jump between dimensions without a full crew compliment, though it delayed their departure, and Blake agreed that it would be better if there were more people aboard when they made their return – after all, no matter where they jumped, they might just accidentally end up in a Federation flotilla again. Vila’s memories of Sarran weren’t exactly positive, but a few days of holiday by the sea sounded appealing. Besides, Cally strongly voiced the opinion that sea air would do them all good.

The undersea base in which they had been held prisoner had been reclaimed by Mellanby’s small cadre of rebels and cleaned up, but Vila still preferred to stay in the cave on the beach with Avon. He’d never been particular keen on places that were underground, or under meters and meters of water, even the ones he hadn’t been tortured in. It was warm enough, the cave was well equipped enough, and the main base was within walking distance. Vila spent most of the first day exploring the dunes with Cally – having his own much needed conversation. It had been easy, back then in the windswept night on Terminal, to blame it all on Avon – everyone else did, including Avon himself. But the fact remained that if Vila had been a little faster in getting Tarrant out, he might have saved her, and it was high time that he told Cally the whole truth.

“Oh Vila. That you tried is the important thing,” Cally, this Cally, said, “and you did save _me_ , from a fate worse than death.”

Vila kicked a shrub on one of the dunes, stirring up a plume of fine sand. “Yeah, but that doesn’t mean anything, because you’re not her.”

“Are you sure it doesn’t mean anything, Vila?” she asked, gently.

“Avon said…”

“Do you believe what he said? Do you think _Avon_ believes it doesn’t make a difference?”

Vila looked down towards the sea, letting the salty wind beat at his face, and grinned. Cally was solidly by his side, and he didn’t need to turn to know that she was smiling too. “I think Avon _says_ it doesn’t make a difference.”

“Sometimes the things that make us feel better aren’t rational, Vila.”

“Know that, don’t I, or I would never have fallen in love with the man.”

Cally touched his elbow. _I’m happy for you, Vila_ , she said in his mind, _and I forgive you. Both of you._

“We missed you, Cally,” Vila told her, and found himself wrapped in a firm hug.

Cally returned to the _Liberator_ after accompanying Vila back to the cave-turned-holiday hideaway. She had wanted to give her greetings to Avon before going back to relieve River from watch, but Avon hadn’t been there. Vila’s reader lay on the bed, a small flashing light indicating that someone had left a message on it. Naturally, it was from Avon, telling him that he had gone for a walk along the beach. Cally couldn’t wait for him, but promised to be back, and let herself be teleported up. Vila gathered their dinner into a basket and set off again, going after Avon.

The comparatively tightly packed sand of the beach was easier on Avon’s knee, and showed clearly the way he had taken. Vila followed the impressions of Avon’s boots and walking stick, and found him sitting on a large bolder on the edge of a rocky outcropping reaching out into the sea. His back supported by a second rock, Avon had laid his stick across his lap and was looking out towards the sea, quietly contemplative. Vila could see no tension in his shoulders even as he came closer, and was glad for it. The newly healed wound in Avon’s side was still tender, but evidently it didn’t pain him much anymore. Avon’s hair was ruffled by the breeze. Once, Vila might have thought he looked distant, aloof, but now he could recognise the private contentment and uncommon calm.

Vila called out to him when he was still some distance from the rock Avon had chosen as his perch, to warn him of the company. Avon turned his head and watched him approach. He wasn’t smiling, but his eyes shone with more life than Vila had seen in the long, long years that lay behind them between the fiasco of Gauda Prime and now.

“Dinner?” he asked, pointing the handle of his stick at the basket Vila was carrying.

“Yeh. Figured we might as well stay out here. It’s warm enough and we might catch a sunset.”

“Hm.”

“Have you been out here long?”

“No, not long.” Avon shifted a little, and patted the rock. “There’s space enough for two people here, Vila.”

Vila settled down beside him, balancing the lunch basket on his knee. The rock wasn’t the most comfortable of seats, but it was dry and warm, and the view was very nice. Framed between the other rocks of the outcropping, the sea looked magical, the far distant horizon like a place full of opportunities.

Avon leant into him slightly – bridging the gap Vila had left because he didn’t dare disturb even the practically healed wound. “How was Cally?”

“Very kind. You know how Cally is.”

“Yes. Did it help?”

“It might, in a while.”

Avon nodded, accepting the statement without argument. The sun was slowly setting, tinting the sky pink and orange.

“We should eat before it’s too dark to see,” Vila said.

“It’ll taste the same in the dark.”

“Will it? I knew this place once, on Earth, where you could have luxury lunch in pitch-black rooms. The advertisements said it made the food taste more intensive.”

“And did it?”

“No clue, but it was heaven for pickpockets – if you could get in without tripping the alarms.”

Avon grinned appreciatively. “Well, do you want to wait and find out?”

“Nah. It’s for luxury food only. We just have sandwiches.” Not that sandwiches made from fresh ingredients, fresh bread and spreads, courtesy of Mellanby’s rebels, weren’t a gift. Vila pulled out the two wrapped bundles, passing one to Avon. “We need to eat less processed food, you know.”

Avon unpacked his own. “Our processors are much superior to the _Liberator_ ’s, if you remember.”

“Still, it’d be nice to have something fresh, once in a while.”

They ate in companionable silence, watching the sun dip lower and lower in the sky, until the sea, too, was glowing with its colours. Vila was savouring the moment and the food, not wanting it to end, and so Avon was done before him and started patting his pockets.

“Looking for something?”

“Oh, I think I found it,” Avon said cryptically, his features tinted in vibrant reds and oranges. He pulled something out of his pocket, cradling it in his palm.

“What’s that, then?” Vila asked around a last bite of sandwich.

There was a long moment before Avon answered, and when he did his voice was halting, almost embarrassed. “It’s… nothing really. I… found them one day when I couldn’t sleep, after Anna…” He paused again, swallowing. “River wasn’t around for a while, so I thought they might still be there, and they were. The… others were destroyed along with our _Liberator_ , or I would have... Nevermind.” Distractedly, not dismissive.

“Avon?” Vila prompted gently, unsure what the make of the change in mood. The air felt heavily charged between them, and he couldn’t quite pinpoint with what.

“They reminded me of you, at the time. That’s why I pocketed them then.” Avon turned slightly towards him and opened his hand, holding his palm up to the fading light. On it sat a pair of dice, both ten-sided. They had been carved from precious stones, catching and refracting the sunset, and almost seemed to glow on Avon’s hand. The light from the sunset was a breathtakingly contrast to the silver inlets that formed the numbers.

“They are genuine stones, of course,” Avon said quietly.

“They are beautiful, Avon.”

“Yes.” Avon paused again, for just a heartbeat. “I want to give them to you.”

“What?!”

Avon’s lips curled into a light smile, almost outshining both the sunset and the stones. “Or one of them, at any rate. Marry me, Vila?”

Vila stared at him, wanting to burn the moment into his memory, and at the same time not sure he had heard correctly. “Is this a proposal?”

Avon shrugged. “Rings are supposedly traditional, but neither of us ever cared much for tradition, or for jewellery – to wear it, that is.” Avon grinned again, a quick flash of his teeth that lit up his entire face. “We can have the ceremony right here, on the beach, with the others as witnesses. Blake… I can’t believe I’m saying this. I suppose Blake can do the honours, in the absence of an alternative.”

“I haven’t said _yes_ yet,” Vila said, teasing.

Avon arched an eyebrow. “If you say no, I’m keeping the dice. Well?”

Vila placed his hand over Avon’s, catching the dice between their palms, and leant in. “Yes,” he whispered against Avon’s lips, sharing Avon’s breath, and kissed him.

 

“That is wonderful, Avon,” Cally said while they both waited for the medical computer to finish its analysis. Neither of them expected it to find anything out of the ordinary – Avon felt as well as he ever did, and though his side still twinged a little occasionally, the wound had fully healed. And well… perhaps he felt just slightly _better_ than he usually did. Not physically, perhaps, but his mind and emotions felt calmer, even mellow. Perhaps he really _was_ getting sentimental with age.

“It’s just a ceremony, Cally, and one without legal relevance at that. Nothing will change.”

“Why are you doing it, then, if it is so unimportant?”

“I didn’t say it was unimportant.” Avon shrugged back into his shirt. “It just seems nonsensical to congratulate me on it, as if it were needed to prove that Vila and I have a relationship.” He had never understood the need for proof of these things, and he doubted that he ever would. The ceremony had come to be important to him, yes, but Avon hadn’t needed it to be assured of Vila’s love. If he had, he wouldn’t have gone through with it. Pair-bonding vows all on their own meant nothing, as Alpha society had taught him from when he had been just a child.

Cally scanned the medical readout, a placid smile on her face. “You weren’t nervous he might say no, then?”

“Should I have been? He asked me first, if you remember.” Avon picked up his stick. “Well?”

Cally nodded and powered down the scanner. “All is as it should be.”

“Good.” Avon stood from the diagnostic bed. “I should go down to the teleport to set it up for automatic pickup.” They had decided to hold the ceremony on their last evening on Sarran, to give them a day to prepare. Avon had the impression that Mellanby was set on having a party adjacent to the ceremony for which he couldn’t have cared less, but Vila seemed to look forward to it, so he let them be and directed his attention to allowing them to leave the _Liberator_ temporarily unmanned. The subroutine was there, part of the emergency protocols; it was just a question of activating it manually. Avon would put it under his own voice lock, leaving two people who could trigger it, though he expected no trouble. Federation traffic in this sector was sparse to begin with, and the troopers from the crashed patrol vessel who had taken Vila, Blake and River prisoner had not been able to reach anyone with their message. If they had, the planet would have been teeming with Federation by now. Scout ships vanished all the time, and all communication Zen was picking up indicated that the Federation was tied up with the pacification effort or in searching the area where _Liberator_ had lost them – well away from Sarran and Destiny, and in the middle of Space Rat territory, which would keep them busy. Avon hadn’t asked whose idea that had been, but it was an inspired choice. No, for a little while, the Federation was busy elsewhere, and they were quite safe on Sarran for the time being.

Cally followed him to the teleport unit. She’d been in an impish mood ever since he had come up, and that had only deepened when he had told her of the impending ceremony. Possibly, if all went according to plan, Cally was the last person to know. Vila should be down there on the planet, talking to Blake now. After having Blake walk in on them talking about marriage on the flight deck before they reached Destiny, Avon hadn’t been able to bring himself to ask him and had left the task to Vila. Avon couldn’t shake the impression that Cally had somehow known already, anyway.

“Do you need a second pair of hands?” Cally asked, as he slid behind the console.

“It isn’t a mechanical problem.” Avon linked his handheld into the console and called up the command codes, pausing to look up at her while they loaded, “but I would appreciate the company.”

Cally smiled and sat down at the other end of the bench. “You _have_ changed, you know.”

“Have I?”

“Yes, I think so. And so do you.”

“You didn’t know me before, Cally.”

“Perhaps not. But I do know River, then and now. Am I distracting you?”

“No.” He grinned, seeing no reason not to. “This isn’t difficult.”

“You _are_ different.”

“I don’t want to hear any sayings about how being in love changes people. I was already in love with him when I decided to kill Vila to save my own life,” Avon said, concentrating fiercely on the code to keep the memories of that shuttle flight buried.

“Do you regret it?”

“Trying to kill Vila? Of course I regret it. I try not to think about it.”

“And would you do it again?”

Avon paused, keeping his gaze locked on the console before him so he wouldn’t have to look at her. “For the longest time, the answer would have been yes. If the circumstances were the same… I don’t know whether I could have _done_ it, even then, but probably I... I’m glad I didn’t have to.”

“And now?” Cally prompted gently.

“Now, I don’t know. I don’t think I could live with myself, if I did. I’ve seen too many people die by my hand, Cally.”

“ _I_ think you would save his life, even if the cost were your own.”

“Even if it meant making Vila kill me?” Avon set the handheld down. “I would rather not find out.” He ran a final check directly on the console, then began disconnecting the device.

“You changed, Avon. That doesn’t have to be a bad thing.”

“If that is the reward for the trauma, Cally, I would rather have passed. Surely you don’t mean to tell me that _that_ was what turned me into a good person.”

Cally shook her head. “No. ‘Good’ is a meaningless category for people.”

“Is it? Blake doesn’t think so.”

“We all grow and change, Avon. It doesn’t have to mean that we are no longer ourselves if we let it happen. Change isn’t inherently good or bad.” Cally laid her hand gently on his. “I think you and Vila are good for each other. You both love the person, not the moment or the potential. If anything, let the change mean that, Avon.”

Avon caught her eyes, holding them for a moment. He wasn’t quite sure he understood what she was trying to tell him, or whether he agreed – but then it had always been that way with Cally. “Thank you, I think.”

She smiled. “Have you finished?”

“Yes. It’s all set up. Are you coming down with me?”

“Avon, have you decided what to wear?”

 

“Are you sure about this, Vila?”

“What are you trying to do, change my mind? You’re supposed to be marrying us, Blake, not giving me cold feet!” Vila plucked nervously at his sleeve. He’d wanted to dress up for the occasion: For once, he didn’t want to blend into the background, nor obey political propriety, but it was proving more difficult than he had expected. Most of the fancy clothes were just so uncomfortable! Sneaking past Avon and Cally while they were in the medical unit to get to the storage with Blake had been easy by comparison, child’s play, really. Fashion really wasn’t part of his skillset – the things that made you invisible weren’t generally very fashionable.

Blake held up a placating hand. “I just meant I don’t want either of you to feel pressured to rush through with the ceremony just because of us.”

Vila shrugged out of the stiff shirt, flinging it into a corner out of frustration. “We’re not rushing things. We have hardly ever been away from each other for more than a few days in decades; I know when Avon doesn’t really want to do something, and that’s not how he sounded yesterday.”

“And you, Vila?”

Vila paused for a moment to grin at him. “Oh, you know me. I like parties!”

“Oh, we know,” a familiar voice drawled behind him, and Vila turned expecting to see River who had brought them on board. Instead, it was Avon and Cally, standing in the door.

“What are you doing here? It’s supposed to be bad luck to see your partner’s clothes before the ceremony, you know.”

“You were the ones who snuck on board in secret. How could I have known you would be here?” Avon made his way over. “Good day, Blake.”

Blake nodded at him and at Cally following after him. “Avon. Cally. What brings you here?”

“The same thing as you,” Cally said. “Something to wear for the ceremony. I should find something for myself, too, as should you. Join me, Blake?” Not waiting for a response, she pulled Blake deeper into the hold until they had disappeared between the endless supply of clothes.

“I wish you luck!” Vila called after them, and stared bitterly at the crumbled pile of discarded shirts.

Suddenly, Avon’s hand settled warmly on his arm. “Are you all right?”

Vila found his smile. “Yeh. Why is it that beautiful clothes are always uncomfortable, eh? I don’t think being in pain makes someone prettier, you know.”

“No, I don’t think so either.” Avon contemplated the discarded pile for a moment, moving items about with his stick. “I think maybe you were trying too hard. What did you expect, with Blake as a guide?”

“Oh yeh? And you were always so much better, with your red leather and those ugly brown overalls?”

Avon grinned. “ _Touché._ You know I don’t really care what you wear, Vila.”

Vila sighed. “I know. It’s just that I never bother; not much point, is there, when you don’t really have a choice. And then on the _Liberator_ I just wanted clothes that fit and were comfortable, and then it was prison overalls for years, and then it was all _wear this or the diplomats won’t take you serious_ or _wear this because it has a force field integrated into the fabric_ and I just thought, for once, I want to wear something nice, just because I can.”

Avon listened to his rant in silence, the small smile still on his lips that didn’t seem to have faded once since the previous evening. “Will you let me, Vila?”

“Go ahead. You can’t do any worse than Blake.”

“Oh, I think I can do better.” Avon shot him a quick grin and walked along the rows of clothes, occasionally pausing to run his fingers over some of them, then moving on. Vila trailed behind him, shirtless, and wondered what Avon was thinking. There didn’t seem to be any particular pattern to the clothes he examined more closely. Finally, Avon stopped and pulled something out from the endless mass. Leaning his stick against the shelf, he shook it out and held it out to Vila. “Here. Try this.”

It was a tunic in deep wine-red, three layers of fabric floating over each other in an asymmetric pattern. It closed tightly around the neck, and there were intricate patterns on the sleeves – the colour the same, but with a shine to them that off-set them from the rest of the fabric. It looked beautiful and expensive, but so had the things Blake had picked out.

“You’re sure? I don’t know how much more of this I can take, Avon.”

“Just try it.”

Vila took the tunic from Avon’s hands – it _felt_ expensive, too – and pulled it over his head. Avon plucked at the rim to make it fall properly as Vila buttoned it up and shook out his sleeves.

“Well?”

“It doesn’t make me want to climb out of my skin immediately, at any rate.” Vila glanced down, admiring the patterns on the sleeves, but it was hard to tell how it looked on him.

Avon, at any rate, looked quietly pleased. “Go to the mirror.”

Vila made the track back, leaving Avon to follow at a more leisurely pace. The fabric felt cool on his skin, so fragile that Vila was afraid it might dissolve. He stepped in front of the mirror and stared. It didn’t look as fragile as it felt, less whimsical than Vila had thought. Instead, it was formal without being imposing, and somehow managed to hide his poor posture and distract from the bit of unflattering weight he had gained over the years.

Avon stepped up behind him, also looking into the mirror. “What do you think?”

“It’s beautiful, Avon.”

“Yes, I thought so.” Avon’s hand brushed lightly over his shoulder. “Will you wear it?”

Vila turned and stole a kiss. “Want to make sure we match, do you?”

The corner of Avon’s mouth quirked. “Perhaps.”

“Well, go on then. You’ve seen my clothes, so I get to see yours, too.”

“Very well.” Avon stepped back and began walking along the shelves again. “Just how offended were your sensibilities by the red?”

“Not by the red, just the fact that it was leather and from top to toe.”

Avon nodded. “Good. Gold isn’t my colour.”

Vila wasn’t quite sure what to make of that statement until Avon showed him what he had had in mind. “If you want us to match, gold, black, or the same shade of red are the options you have. Other colours don’t go well with red.”

“Found that out the hard way, did you?” Vila quipped, but subsided when he noticed the haunted expression in Avon’s eyes as he toyed with the cuffs of the shirt he’d been contemplating.

“I don’t think I want to wear solid black, Vila,” he said quietly.

“No,” Vila agreed.

Avon took a deep breath, and shook out the shirt. “What do you think of this?”

It was a shirt fastened along the side. The upper layer of fabric was in the same red as Vila’s tunic, the lower, which was mostly hidden, and the sleeves were black, but broken up by the same sort of shiny pattern as Vila’s.

“It’s nice. Will it fit?”

“Yes, it will fit.”

“Well, then, are we done? We have one more day of holiday on the beach left, and I haven’t even stuck my toe into the water.”

Avon laughed. “Yes, Vila, we’re done. Let’s go before Cally and Blake decide that we need to spend more time preparing.”

 

The day passed quickly and quietly, except for the brief disruption when Blake and Cally frantically called their bracelets because they had disappeared from the ship. Avon made Vila check with Mellanby that it was safe before allowing him to go for a swim, and stayed resolutely at the edge of the water, though he had taken off his shoes and let the cool water wash over his bare feet. Vila seemed to enjoy himself well enough, but Avon had never been the strongest of swimmers and he doubted that his knee would help any. They shared a meal back in the cave and turned in early, the sunset just casting its light into their little hideaway as they fell asleep.

They were determined to stay in bed for as long as the others would let them get away with the next morning. If this had been their universe, Avon might have been inclined to ignore the first few chimes of their teleport bracelets when they eventually came to wake them, but you could never know whether it might not be whoever was on watch on the ship warning them of approaching pursuit ships, after all. It wasn’t – just Blake telling them that it was after midday and that they should have lunch and break up camp to join them at the main base in time for the ceremony.

The ceremony would be strictly for the _Liberator_ crew only. Avon didn’t want anyone else there – wasn’t even sure he wanted _anyone_ there, but he’d rather have this than one of the officials of the New Federation, inevitably a stranger, Del Grant hovering in his back and a vidcast camera. If Vila still wanted the pair-bond to be official once they were back in their universe, if it even still mattered and there hadn’t been a political coup in their absence, Avon would grit his teeth and bear it, but this would be the ceremony that was important to him. He had the feeling that Vila, for all his dreams of having their names inextricably linked in the historical records, thought the same way.

They bowed to tradition just far enough to separate once they arrived at the base. Avon tried to convince himself that he wasn’t nervous. He spent most of the time off his feet and watching the bottom of the sea through the large windows in Mellanby’s room – one which had, apparently, once belonged to her father – and listened to her chat, more at him than with him. Vila had been whisked away to another room by Cally, whereas Blake had disappeared to get ready himself. Avon thought that if he were made to wait much longer, he might change his mind about the whole thing.

“Avon!” Mellanby exclaimed suddenly, cutting through his thoughts.

Avon forced his hands still. “What?” It was becoming harder not to think of… well, she hadn’t been real, had she? It was silly that sometimes the memories still seemed to haunt him as though she had been.

“You haven’t heard a word I said, have you,” Mellanby accused, and brazenly stepped into his view of the window.  

Avon summoned up a faintly apologetic expression. “Was it important?”

“Cally was just around. Everything’s ready and the sun will soon set, so we can get going soon.”

Avon nodded, a mixture of relief and nervousness knotting his stomach. At least there wouldn’t be an aisle to walk down. Cally and Vila would be taking the second exit – the longer way – and they would meet on the beach. Blake would say a few words. There was nothing to it, really.

“You don’t look particularly happy,” Mellanby said, suddenly sounding concerned, and knelt in front of his chair. “Are you all right?”

Avon thought of Vila in that tunic Avon had found for him, standing on the beach in the sunset that made his hair gleam. “Yes,” he told her, and knew from the bottom of his heart that he meant it. “Some old memories, that is all.”

“Were you pair-bonded before?” Mellanby asked with uncommon accuracy in reading his reaction. Perhaps he had become more transparent over the years, as well as more sentimental.

He shook his head. “No. She was never even real.”

She laughed, misunderstanding. “Well, Vila seems very real to me.”

“Yes, he is, isn’t he.” Seeing no reason to explain himself further, Avon pushed himself to his feet. “Well, shall we get going?”

When they had first been here, trying to rescue the others, the base had had a deserted, lonely feel to it. Now, while it wasn’t exactly bustling with activity – the rebels had been told to keep out of their way until the celebrations later – it felt lived in, homey, even. Avon, who was even less of fan of crowds now than he had been before years in solitary confinement with only Vila for company, was grateful for it – walking corridors like these when they felt devoid of life would have been too much like walking to an execution. In his more lucid moments in prison, they had sometimes talked about that – about whether they would ever be allowed to die before they lost themselves.

Avon shook his head, trying to cast away the morbid thoughts. He wished Vila were there to distract him – and perhaps that was the whole point.

“Will you be all right on the stairs?” Mellanby asked.

“I’ll manage.”

The fresh air went a long way to clear Avon’s mind. He stood by the entrance hatch for a moment, just catching his breath – the stairs were one thing, the two steps of ladder at the end another. There had been a reason why he hadn’t given in to the temptation to pace earlier.

The beach didn’t lend itself to concealment, so Avon could see the preparations for the celebration to his right – they were building a bonfire. Well, let them enjoy it. Vila might like it, too – he had always been fond of the little victory parties the various rebel cells they managed to help, not kill, insisted on throwing for them. The diplomatic functions of their everyday life now didn’t have quite the same exuberance, the same _joie de vivre_ , if a centuries old expression could even capture the feeling of _living_ in spite of the Federation. Avon wouldn’t have wished for the Federation back in a million years, but they had at least made the moments of light shine brighter – if one believed Vila.

Down by the shore, much nearer, were Blake and River. Blake had… well, made an effort, at least. Apparently, even Cally’s good advice had only done so much, and the green flowing shirt and dark waistcoat had been the best she could do. River had actually asked _Avon_ – and settled for plain, unadorned black. Avon wasn’t sure what Mellanby had told her followers, but if they avoided drawing attention to the fact that there were two of them, especially since some attention would default to Avon, it could only be for the better. A certain plainness of dress on River’s part would help, and River didn’t have the same misgivings about the colour, thankfully.

River had spotted them and stepped away from Blake’s side, coming over. Mellanby left them together to slowly make their way down the beach, and hurried ahead to Blake herself.

“If you had told me when we met that this was how it would end, I wouldn’t have believed you,” River said without much preamble.

“Do you think I would have?”

River smiled, and there was still something strange about seeing his own smile on a so much younger face. “No, I don’t suppose you would have. I don’t envy your life, or your universe – but I missed my chance to tell Vila. It’s good to have confirmation that that wasn’t the case everywhere.”

“Yes,” Avon said simply, and that was really all there was to say.

 

“Vila, stop fidgeting! I told you we were too early.”

Vila dropped his hand from the cuff of his sleeve. “This waiting it killing me. Can’t we just go?”

Cally grinned. “Nervous, Vila?”

“No. Why should I be? It’s only Avon.” He took one look at Cally’s smiling face and his bravado fled in a rush. “Oh God, Cally, I’m getting pair-ponded. I’m getting pair-bonded to _Avon_. What if the Federation finally got to me? We should turn back now, go to the ship, had Zen check me over. I don’t feel well..:”

“Vila.” She caught his arms, enforcing her quiet voice with her telepathy. “You’re babbling. It’s just nerves.”

“Oh yes?”

“Well, did you feel ill when you accepted Avon’s proposal? Or when you asked him yourself on the flight deck?”

“No.”

“Well then.” She let him go with a slight push. “You have known and loved Avon for longer than any of us. Listen to your heart, Vila.”

“That’s no good. My heart’s racing.”

“Oh, _come on_ , Vila. Do you want to keep Avon waiting and worry him?”

Vila stared at her, and the cold shock of horror at those words abruptly calmed him down. In an instant, he remembered just how far inside all of Avon’s barriers the other man had let him, just how much it meant that _Avon_ trusted him, just how easy he could break Avon with that knowledge, and just how much he would – wanted to! – give to have nothing like that ever happen to Avon again. “Cally, I was just babbling, I didn’t mean what I said!”

“It’s all right, Vila. It was just the nerves.”

“You won’t tell him, will you? I didn’t mean it, honest. I love him…”

“Yes. I won’t tell him.” Cally smiled. “It’s time. Are you ready?”

Vila felt immediately better when they stepped out between the dunes and the first thing he saw was Avon, backlit by the slowly setting sun, standing by the entrance hatch while Mellanby closed it up behind him. Avon looked wonderful.

“Are you all right now, Vila?” Cally asked.

Vila just nodded mutely, glad that they had decided to forgo the elaborate vows – things between them had always gone without saying, and it hadn’t felt right to force it out for the benefit of witnesses and make both of them uncomfortable. Blake would be saying a few words, and that would be it.

He watched River join Avon and the two of them slowly walking to meet Blake by the water’s edge. Blake clasped Avon’s hand in greeting, and then Avon looked over Blake’s shoulder – and his gaze locked with Vila’s.

Vila almost faltered, then sped up his stride. Blake managed to distract Avon’s attention, and when they reached them, Blake turned immediately to Vila, greeting him with the same handshake.

“Shall we begin, then?” Blake’s voice was quiet, but carried enough even on the wide open beach to reach all of them.

“I think we both have had enough of waiting, Blake,” Avon said, and grinned at Vila.

“Patience is a virtue, you know,” Blake told him.

“Oh yes. One I’ll have ample opportunity to practice with Vila.”

The sheer normalcy of the conversation dropped the last bit of nervousness from Vila’s shoulders and he threw himself into the banter with abandon and a beaming smile. “And I with you!”

Blake held up his hands. “All right. We better get started, or I won’t be able to get a word in edgewise. Do you still want to do this at the edge of the water?”

Vila echoed Avon’s nod with a short: “Yes.”

They walked the remaining steps to the sea on either side of Blake, then stopped to remove their boots before stepping past Blake to the point where the cool waves were just curling around their feet. They turned towards the beach, the sun in their back.

The others gathered around behind Blake, Cally and River on one side, Mellanby on her own on the other. For a moment, Vila thought of the people who should have been there but would never again be, then Avon’s fingers twined into his, softly squeezing.

“Vila Restal, Kerr Avon,” Blake said, and Vila looked back towards him. “I’m honoured to be here with you today and to say a few words, even though I have really only known you for a time still measurable in days – and threatened to open fire on your planet before we met. I also suspect Avon will have my head if I go on for too long.”

Out of the corner of his eye, Vila saw Avon’s lips quirk.

“But this isn’t one of my political speeches, never fear. None of us can even begin to imagine the journey you have both been through. But we can plainly see that, despite all of it and because of all of it, you haven’t wavered from each other’s side. Today, we symbolise that commitment, and declare, before witnesses, the promise to continue it beyond this day.” Blake took a step closer, lifting a woven ribbon from where it had rested across his arm. “Avon and Vila, look into each other’s eyes.”

Vila turned and met Avon’s smile, getting lost, for a moment, in the sight of the raw emotion shining in his eyes, gleaming in the light of the setting sun. Reluctantly, he let go of Avon’s hand for a moment only to fully entwine their hands, his right in Avon’s right, Avon’s left in his left, their arms crossing.

Blake placed his hand on theirs. “Vila and Avon, with full awareness and intent, do you seek this ceremony and the promise it represents?”

For a moment, Vila thought the word might get stuck in his throat, but then he found he had spoken, even as he heard Avon echo him. “Yes.”

“Then let this ribbon tied about your hands symbolise your union.” Blake proceeded to fasten the ribbon, smoothest silk, around their entwined hands, just tight enough so Vila could feel it, though the weight of Avon’s hands in and around his, relaxed and comforting, felt so much more important. Blake finished the knot. “And so the promise is made.” He stepped back. “You may kiss now.”

For a moment, it was awkward with their hands fastened between them, but then suddenly Avon was very close and Vila only had to lean forward to press their lips together. Avon’s lips tasted faintly of salt from the sea air, his eyes open and smiling. Abruptly, Vila never wanted to let go. He tightened his grip on Avon’s hands, both pairs of hands trapped between their chests and renewed the kiss, losing himself in the faint warmth of the sunset, the soothing coolness of the waves around his feet and the solidity of Avon, his crewmate, his friend, his advisor and his bond partner.

In the end, neither of them broke away first – it was Blake’s diplomatically cleared throat that broke the kiss. They stepped apart slightly. Avon smiled a quick lopsided smile, squeezing Vila’s hands. Vila returned the squeeze even as Blake stepped in and unfastened the cord from their hands, pulling it into a tight knot.

“I will keep this safe for you until we are back on the ship. Congratulations.”

“Thank you,” Avon said very quietly, then, slowly, pulled his hands away from Vila’s, though he eyes never left Vila’s face. “Vila,” was all he said, and Vila pulled him in for another kiss, this time running his hands over the soft material of the shirt around Avon’s back, tangling his hand in Avon’s hair.

“Avon.”

Avon smiled against his lips. “I think there are some people who want to congratulate us.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> See, I told you to wait until the final chapters were posted. :P Only two more now!  
> As always, love hearing from my readers!


	18. Chapter 18

The congratulations were short, but heartfelt. As nice as it was to hear them, Avon was relieved that they weren’t facing an endless stream of officials but people whose counterparts had been as close to friends as any. Mellanby had thrown Vila into the sand with the exuberance of her hug – Avon was just glad that he hadn’t needed to pick himself up from the ground after she had congratulated him. Cally approached him last, and Avon thought that she might have cried when she wrapped him into a wordless hug, though her face was dry when she pulled back.

“Thank you, Avon,” she said.

“ _Thank you_? For what?”

“For letting us be witnesses.” She squeezed his arms. “I wish you happiness.”

Avon was promptly distracted by a squeal from Mellanby, and the sight of Vila chasing her down the beach, Blake not far behind them. He allowed himself a small private smile. “Well. As long as you don’t expect me to do that.”

“I wouldn’t dream of it, Avon. Would you like to put your shoes back on?”

”Yes.” Avon brushed the wet sand off his feet as best as he could and slipped back into his shoes. Vila’s were still sitting on the beach a few meters away, forgotten. Cally turned away to pick them up and headed after the others to return them to their owner.

River stepped to Avon’s side with the walking stick. He was the only one who hadn’t offered his congratulations, though he had shaken Vila’s hand earlier. He looked down the beach, where Vila had become the centre of a crowd of Mellanby’s rebels, evidently delighting them with a story. Cally’s arrival with his shoes barely broke his stride, or the rapture of his audience.

“Take care of him,” River said just quietly enough that his voice wouldn’t carry across the beach.

Avon glanced over at him briefly, and found his gaze on Vila, just as his own had been. “I’ll try my best. Shall we?”

“After you.”

 

After being pulled to Vila’s side for a second round of congratulations – this one more impersonal and thankfully short – Avon excused himself. There was a buffet where he picked up some food. He hadn’t really eaten before the ceremony, roiling emotions upsetting his stomach, and was doubly thankful now for the excuse to step away from the crowd. At the buffet he also took one of the blankets provided, and went to settle down on a small pile of sand at the slope of a dune, where he could watch the sunset and Vila both. Vila had always enjoyed being the centre of attention, and Avon was only too happy to let him have it. None of Mellanby’s group seemed inclined to prevent Avon from withdrawing from the festivities. Though Avon had barely had any contact with them before, he had noted a certain awe towards _Blake’s people_ – not that he didn’t appreciate the irony of Vila and he being subsumed under that descriptor. A few offered congratulations as he passed them, but Vila was much more of a crowd magnet. At any rate, Avon’s knee needed the rest, even if he had been inclined to stay in the centre of the crowd. He couldn’t hear what Vila was saying over the distance, but he could still watch him laugh and smile. Avon expected he would need to move closer to the fire again after a while, once the cold that came with nightfall settled in, but for now he enjoyed just observing from the side lines – and appreciate the simple, but well-made and fresh food Mellanby had organised for them.

Just as the night was beginning to become chilly and he was thinking of returning to the festivities around the fire – there was dancing now, and surely no one would expect him to participate in that – Vila made his way over. He had been successfully reunited with his shoes at last, though he carried them in his hand. “Avon? Shallows?”

Avon caught his free hand to kiss it. “No. I’m all right. Better, perhaps. Tired of the party?”

Vila sank down onto the blanket beside him. “We could elope, you know.”

“We’re already pair-bonded. Eloping usually happens before that.”

“Since when did we play it by the rules, eh?”

“Don’t you think they’ll miss us?”

“I didn’t marry them.”

Avon grinned. “All right.” He pulled his hand out of Vila’s, and adjusted his teleport bracelet. “River.”

The answer came just a moment later. In the darkness, Avon couldn’t see River beyond the glare of the bonfire, but it didn’t sound as though he were anywhere near the centre of the revelries either. “Go ahead.”

“We’re eloping,” Vila chimed before Avon could say anything.

There was a faint sound from River’s end that Avon thought might have been a chuckle. “Back to the ship?”

“Yes, I think so.”

“All right. I’ll let the others know if they start missing you.”

“Thank you.” Avon broke off the contact, and changed settings again. “Last chance, Vila.”

Vila stood and pulled Avon to his feet. “Let’s go. Blake didn’t let us sleep in.”

Avon kissed him, lingering just for a moment longer in the sea air, then operated the bracelet. “Zen, lock on to this bracelet and Vila’s and bring us up.”

 

The next morning, it was Avon who ended up waking the others. While he and Vila had had a pleasant night’s sleep, it appeared that the revelries had gone on well into the night, even the early morning hours. Consequently, they had resulted in three very tired crewmates, two of which were also hung over, and Avon’s tired counterpart, who had remained at the party to be able to activate the teleport for them. Cally insisted on them all having another few hours of sleep if there was even the remotest chance of a Federation encounter on their return – which of course there was – at which they all drudged back to their respective cabins, aware that afterward, things would move quickly.

Avon used the extra hours to pre-programme the flight path and took the _Liberator_ out of orbit on a course back towards Destiny. River’s ship was fully functional, but it would be better to be close to the relay station near Destiny, just to minimise the time the others _needed_ to spend in their universe, as they had never figured out what had triggered their return before. It was a bit of a risk for the _Liberator_ now, but the detector shield was functional, and there was no sign of the Federation. Of course, the preparations also meant once more sharing the flight deck with Vila while the rest of the crew slumbered. Avon had expected the familiarity to ache with the knowledge that it wouldn’t last, that they couldn’t keep the _Liberator_ , or the company – but found himself strangely content in Vila’s unusually quiet and mellow presence.

It would only be a question of pushing the button once they had all assembled on the flight deck, and then, if all went well, they would be back in their universe, and saying their goodbyes. He had _expected_ more hesitation, if not from himself then from Vila, but even as Vila had chosen to leave behind the party to come back to the ship with him Avon had known that the time to linger was over.

Once awake – and naturally the first one to be up, though Avon had never really been a morning person – River took charge of the second ship, undocking just in case the docked ship would cause a strain on the _Liberator_ ’s hull during the build-up of the dimensional field they hadn’t been able to plan for. Having the ship in dock hadn’t done any harm when they had _returned_ to this universe, but if their theory of a field effect was correct, the way to their universe might be quite a different case. If River was left behind as the _Liberator_ made the jump, no harm would be done, except that Avon would miss the chance to say goodbye to himself – the _Liberator_ would simply drop them off directly on the relay station before jumping back and pick River back up. With the ship in dock, they were running the risk of tearing both ships apart. Better to recreate the original conditions of the jump as carefully as possible.

And then the time had come. With all of them gathered on the flight deck, Avon gave the command.

There was not even a brief sensation of falling this time.

“River is still with us and the ship is fine,” Cally reported.

“Is that it? Did it work?” Blake asked.

“Only one way to find out.” Avon activated the central console screen before him. “You better go to the weapons station, Vila, because if it didn’t, I’m about to attract the attention of all Federation vessels in the quadrant.”

“What are you doing?” Mellanby asked.

“Seeing if my backdoor access to the computer network works.” Avon grinned briefly across the flight deck at Vila, who nodded his readiness, and put in the code.

It worked without a hitch.

“Well?!”

Avon watched the network open up to him with satisfaction. “We are back.”

“Finally!” Vila exclaimed. “No offense, Blake.”

“None taken.”

“Am I still Chancellor, then?”

Avon scanned the primary news channels and his personal messages, quickly taking in the essentials. “Oh yes. It seems your cabinet was wise enough to keep our absence secret for the moment. There are no news reports, no political communiques. A few encrypted messages… Ah, I should have known.”

“What?”

“It seems that Del took one look at the scans of the ship they took when they called the code and decided to give us some time to get back to them. After a few days, he initiated a secret investigation of our disappearance. Well. I suppose we better contact them soon.”

“Right.” Vila slid out from behind the weapons console and came over to his side. “I’ll better get our things, then.”

 

There seemed to be little point in lingering now, though Avon was strangely reluctant to ease out from behind the console. It became easier, once he had stepped out into the corridor, to say goodbye to the ship that was the mirror of the one he had, so privately, called home. The one he had, so privately, missed for reasons other than its force field, its weapons and its speed. They were exchanging it now for a ship that didn’t belong into their universe any more than the _Liberator_ did, but River’s ship was nothing spectacular, nothing even unusual.

Blake’s crew would be following behind Avon as soon as River had successfully redocked and they could leave the flight deck to Zen for the time being – after all, there were no hostile ships in their universe. Then, they would all gather at the docking hatch to say their goodbyes.

Avon enjoyed the quiet corridors for a moment, letting the peacefulness overlay the deadly still corridors that had sometimes haunted his dreams. Letting go. There was no need to go back to the cabins – there had been very little to pack. Vila had already put the items they wanted to take with them into a canvas bag in the morning, and with the headstart they had given him, Vila would be at the docking hatch before everyone else. Avon wanted to give Vila a moment with River – or rather, give River a moment with Vila, knowing that he himself would have wanted it – and knowing, also, that he would never ask Vila later what had been said between the two them. He owed his alter ego at least that much.

They were standing in the little bay before the airlock when Avon arrived, the first section of the _Liberator_ he had seen a lifetime ago, when they had first stepped onto the ship from the _London_. River had moved away from the hatch, standing next to a small box that held the last of his things that he had stored on the other ship – mostly tools they had kept on board to use while they figured out how the jump had happened. Vila stood at the hatch, the canvas bag with their belongings slung over his shoulder. Avon traded a nod with River and joined him there, waiting for the others to catch up.

And then, there, they said their goodbyes.

In an afterthought, Avon pulled River to the side for a moment to tell him about the teleport implants – he hadn’t produced more than a few prototypes, but based on those River should be able to develop them further – then River excused himself to monitor the undocking from the flight deck. Avon saw Cally glancing after him strangely, evidently puzzled that he hadn’t said his goodbyes to Vila – but Avon knew better. He would leave it to River to enlighten her, if he chose.

They shook hands will the others, and Vila wrapped Cally into a quick hug.

“Well, this is goodbye then, Avon,” Blake said, as he stood before him.

“Yes, it seems it is.”

“We know how to do the jump now, so perhaps in a year’s time, we’ll drop in. When we have defeated the Federation.”

Avon smiled slightly. “Yes, perhaps. I wish you luck.”

“Thank you.” Blake clasped his elbow, squeezing firmly, unaware that he was calling up a memory, though Avon found that the red flashing lights of Gauda Prime had become easier to shake off since he had spoken to Blake in the medical unit.

Blake stepped back, and Avon nodded at him before turning to Vila. “Are you ready?”

“Yes.” Vila adjusted the shoulder strap and looked down the docking ramp, then back at the _Liberator_ and her small crew. River, of course, had left, leaving only three of them. Blake had folded his arms, every bit the leader he liked to give the impression of being. Cally was smiling, catching Avon’s gaze again when she noticed him looking. Mellanby looked… well, more like the Dayna Avon remembered, young and eager and ready for action. Perhaps she would do better alongside Blake.

“Yes. I’m ready,” Vila said again, and Avon tore his gaze away, getting caught in the familiar mirthful gleam in Vila’s eyes, even though he could see that Vila was hiding tears.

Unwilling to look back, unwilling to prolong it any longer, Avon indicated the docking hatch. “After you.”

Vila gave a final wave of goodbye, and then they stepped onto the small vessel together.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next week will be the final chapter! I hope you have been enjoying this as much as I have, both the writing and sharing it with you all!


	19. Chapter 19

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And here we are, the final chapter! Thank you for sticking with me, for reading and for commenting, and I hope you enjoy this final bit just as you have enjoyed everything that came before. :)

Weeks later, they were back on Earth, and things had settled back down – if one could even speak of chaos while they had been away. Very few people had known that they had been truly _missing_ , not just busy elsewhere. The cabinet had simply come to a standstill in Vila’s absence, no one willing to make a decision in the name of the absent Chancellor, and no one ruthless enough to seize the power at the first sign of weakness. Vila was determined to work on that – not that he wanted intrigues and a coup, but eventually, he would need a successor who would have the strength to lead. Now that he was pair-bonded, he didn’t intend to spend his entire retirement years working. He wasn’t quite sure how, but somehow he would teach them to think for themselves; somehow, he would make it possible to have free and open elections. If he could convince a gathering of high-grade rebels to turn to the lower grades for help, this surely couldn’t be all that difficult. 

Del Grant had been the one to pick them up, already out on a search for them. The journey back had taken some time, Grant’s ship not equipped with an engine that came even close to rivalling the _Liberator_ though it was an improvement on River’s ship. They had decided against hopping from ship to ship to get to Earth faster once they knew that there was no uprising to prevent. The journey had given them time to at least try and explain things to Del. He had listened to their story with disbelief. There was nothing they could do to prove it, of course – even the dice from the _Liberator_ ’s storage and the pair-bonding cord could have come from anywhere, but there _were_ the scans of the _Liberator_ in Earth’s orbit, and eventually Del accepted their word for it. He had never really been a naturally suspicious man, and if Avon and Vila considered him their only… well, perhaps _friend_ was the simplest term for it, Grant did reciprocate that trust. At the same time as Del threw up his hands and decided to believe them, they mutually decided not to tell the cabinet. Vila believed in being open with his ministers, as far as he could be, but Blake and the _Liberator_ were too much of a bombshell. Perhaps in a few years, when Avon had published that theoretical treatise about multiverses that he’d been planning, they could reveal a version of the truth, but for now… Very few people had seen and identified the _Liberator_ , and those could be convinced that it had been an elaborate shielding mechanism of a different, otherwise unremarkable vessel. Avon scoffed at the fact that no one questioned that someone had decided to _shield_ their vessel with an image of the most well-known ship in the galaxy, but the lack of critical thinking in this case was just as well for their purposes. They had privately spared a thought to the fact that that _Liberator_ and her crew _had_ been real, that their fight was no less dangerous than their own had been, that they might never know the outcome, that they could only hope that it would end in a success. Vila wasn’t sure he wanted to know if it ended badly, nor what happened to the others on the way to whichever end it would be. His counterpart had already died – better to never hear from any of them again than to learn that River, or Cally, or Dayna, or Blake had suffered and died. Better, Vila thought, to remember the four of them as the smiling old friends at his wedding with whom he’d lost touch, but who were probably fine. Avon didn’t argue the point.

On the journey, Vila had let Avon know of the idea that he might go for a research trip when Del next departed for the outer planets, but while Avon hadn’t exactly torn the idea to shreds, for now he seemed reluctant to leave Vila’s side – and Vila couldn’t exactly claim he didn’t feel the same way. He had taken to barely spending any time at all in his room, except as a representational office space in which to welcome officials. For privacy and relaxation, he now stayed at Avon’s suite instead. There was even enough spare space to give Vila a working area when he had to catch up on things, and Avon’s bedroom had the better view anyway.

Now, they had closed the curtains for the night, illuminating the room in the gentle glow of Avon’s artificial starscape, and Vila lay sleepily back in the pillows, one hand under his head, the other circling Avon’s shoulders. Avon lay quietly in the embrace, his knee resting on Vila’s legs, and was toying with the pair-bond ribbon they usually had laid out on the bedside table, next to the two dice. Vila had seen Avon pick it up and run it through his fingers many times. Though Vila had never asked what Avon’s reasons were, he, too, found himself touching it every once in a while, just to call up the memories of the moment they had stood on the beach, the sun in their back and cool water washing over their feet, and Blake’s voice sealing the pair-bond. Vila had found that he didn’t miss the ship, and he thought that he might even miss the people _less_ than he had before they had known that they were still out there, in that other universe, likely just at this moment disassembling the Federation. Perhaps Avon had had a point about the multiverse theory all along, but then Avon was right about most things.

Watching Avon’s fingers, Vila asked: “Avon? What are you thinking?”

“Something Blake said.”

“Hm?”

“About _Happily Ever After_ s:”

“No such thing ‘cept in fairy tales, Avon,” Vila mumbled.

Avon let the ribbon slip onto the mattress and moved to traced Vila’s collarbone instead, a light, almost tickling touch that Vila loved. “I thought so, too.”

Vila sighed. “What did Blake say to change your mind this time?”

Once, Avon might have disputed that Blake could change his mind about _anything_ ; now, he just smirked and quoted: “‘ _Happily Ever After_ doesn’t have to mean that everything is all right, Avon – just that everyone that matters is happy.’”

“And?”

Avon pressed a whimsical kiss where his fingers had tickled. “Everything isn’t all right, and it can’t ever be, not with everything that happened. The cabinet is still a mess, and if our absence has shown anything, then that your precious ministers still wait for someone powerful to tell them what to do.” He paused as if to catch breath. “But I think I’m happy, Vila. I’m happy.”

“Yeh?” Vila squeezed his shoulder, swallowing down sudden tears of joy. “So am I.”

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Never Twice the Same](https://archiveofourown.org/works/16399190) by [Jaelijn](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jaelijn/pseuds/Jaelijn)




End file.
